


Abelard!

by jimbotnik_ahegao (oozybosmer)



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: -jeb voice- please clap, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, At least one investigative reporter was harmed in the making of this story, Before Sonic, Blood and Gore, CHALLENGE PISSING, Emil got all his dating tips from warriormale, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Corporation says Trans Rights, Found Family, Guns, Hi mom, I will never not romanticize blue collar workers fuck you, Knives, M/M, MKUltra, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of rabies, Mind Games, No Slow Burn Here, Old Memes, Recreational Drug Use, Toxic Relationships, WARNING: political statements, Why are all my OCs Jack Burton clones?, World's Most Inaccurate Prequel, awkward fucking, bad people doing bad things, blue lives don't matter here, for now..., god i wish there were tentacles, himbo alert, if any movie!canon people are missing i sowwy, manipulation with semi-informed consent, mindfuckery, more like a molotov cocktail, please do not drugs, rip to ur canon but i'm different, sort of just getting reacquainted know what I mean?, taking people's lives, toxic workplace, transmeds fuck off, war games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-10-17 11:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oozybosmer/pseuds/jimbotnik_ahegao
Summary: Things were going really great for Dr Robotnik and his henchmen before Sonic entered the scene. Yep, no problems, no identity crises, no petty bullshit between coworkers, no unethical practices, no shady business, no dead reporters, no experiments that could have a devastating effect on the public at large...Nope, things were just fine pre-hedgehog! Clearly Dr Robotnik's horrible personality and inability to play well with others are the space hedgehog's fault. Totally normal human over here.





	1. The Reunion ("Nothing Special" by Local H)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I done it. I'm a genius. I got your sexy prequel to Sonic Movie 2020 RIGHT HERE! 
> 
> Don't expect me to be quick about adding chapters, but DO expect infuriating canonical inconsistencies, weird bullshit, stupid headcanons brought to life, baseless fan theories, and bad things happening to morally ambiguous people.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, good or bad! I'd love to talk to all you lovely people. And PM me if I end up nominated or if Paramount/Sega wants to get this shit published.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were going really great for Dr Robotnik and his henchmen before Sonic entered the scene. Yep, no problems, no identity crises, no petty bullshit between coworkers, no unethical practices, no shady business, no dead reporters, no experiments that could have a devastating effect on the public at large...
> 
> Nope, things were just fine pre-hedgehog! Clearly Dr Robotnik's horrible personality and inability to play well with others are the space hedgehog's fault. Totally normal human over here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I done it. I'm a genius. I got your sexy prequel to Sonic Movie 2020 RIGHT HERE!
> 
> Don't expect me to be quick about adding chapters, but DO expect infuriating canonical inconsistencies, weird bullshit, stupid headcanons brought to life, baseless fan theories, and bad things happening to morally ambiguous people.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, good or bad! I'd love to talk to all you lovely people. And PM me if I end up nominated or if Paramount/Sega wants to get this shit published.

He’d been listening to the same album over and over for the past week. His periods had tapered off long ago, so this emotional slump was inexcusable to Emil. He sighed as his car crept down the gravel street. Most of his neighbors were home and inside by now: arguing, eating, watching TV, fucking. The sun had disappeared behind the tree-line but a few minutes ago. Two old folks three lots down from him were sitting on the porch, drinking and talking. They saw Emil and waved. He waved back. They kept looking at him before they leaned their heads together, possibly concerned about something, or maybe just gossiping.

As he turned to face the road again, he slowed down and turned off his stereo. In the darkness he saw a silhouette, someone standing in front of his house. It was too late to dim the lights and get the jump on him. His gun was locked away in his bedroom. All he had on him was a multitool and a tire thumper. The latter would have to do. Whatever this stranger wanted to do to him, they’d have to earn it.

He saw the glimmer of shades as he pulled in. “Don Henley-lookin’ little son of a bitch…” He put the car in park, opened the door, and swung out of his seat, thumper in hand. The man did nothing. This guy was obviously an idiot. He probably had some clever line he wanted to say before he shot him, or he didn’t even bring a gun with him.

Before he raised his weapon, the man spoke a single word as he backed away a step. “Heloise!” The man slowly lifted one arm and removed his pince-nez.

Emil paused. He recognized that smile, those eyes. “Abelard!” The tire thumper fell to the ground with a clunk as Emil ran to his old friend and threw his arms around him with a laugh.

All tension was gone. It was his birthday now and he was sixteen. They were sitting on the jungle gym in the park at midnight and sharing clove cigarettes, thinking they were cool and sophisticated. They were in the library with the rest of their friends, checking out cassette tapes that their moms wouldn’t let them buy. The two of them were in his father’s house, eating dinner with him while he talked about what he’d been teaching his students that day. Emil held onto him tightly, like he only had moments left before his friend would disappear again, and Ivo tightened his grip on Emil as well before holding him at arm’s length and grinning.

“I knew there was only one word that would keep you from bludgeoning me.” He sighed. “It’s been too long, Emil. I missed you.” His voice was low, and his breath reeked of whiskey. He gave Emil another squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before walking up the front porch steps.

Emil laughed again and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that he couldn’t see the dumb grin on his face. It really was his sweet sixteen all over again. “Yeahh, it’s been a minute. Aren’t you hot in that coat?” He cut the engine and rolled up the windows. “Come on man, let’s have a drink! Where’d you park? Or did you get dropped off here, or…?”

Ivo shook his head with a chuckle. “My driver brought me here but then I let him have the night off. Now I’m stranded! Oh, what was I thinking?” He tapped his forehead, as if he didn’t do almost everything he did on purpose. He waited for his friend to open the door before letting himself in. “I hope I’m not imposing, Emil. I’d hate to think I’m ruining your plans. Do you have any plans? Maybe I can come with you!”

Emil just laughed. “No man, no plans tonight. Just passing out in front of the TV or whatever.” He took his flannel off and chucked it down the hallway, and as he unlaced his boots, he watched Ivo inspect his living room. He couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. “Paid the whole thing off in three years,” he said. “It’s all mine and no one else’s.” He wanted to add that it was new too, but he bit his tongue. He’d given himself away already.

Ivo removed his long wool coat. He folded it and carefully draped it over one of the dinette chairs. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Emil.” He flopped down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him. “You’ve always wanted to live life on your own terms, by your own standards. That’s what I respect about you. You’re too good for white picket fences, for landlords, gated communities… high-rises…” He called over his shoulder to Emil, who was searching the kitchen cabinets and quietly shooing a mouse out of one of them. “And you despise billionaires. I bet you’d kill me right now if you had the chance.”

“Yeah, sure. Alcohol poisoning.” He placed two glasses on the coffee table and went back into the kitchen. “You want beer or vodka?”

“Vodka’s fine. Just get over here already! I’m—” Ivo gasped loudly as tiny black humanoid hands reached out from under the couch and felt around. One of them grabbed his foot and he jerked it away, pulling both knees up to his chest. “Emil! You have raccoons under your couch! Why—why are they here? Did you let them in on purpose? Get them out of here!” He reached into his pants pocket and grabbed his taser as the wild animals crawled up onto the couch and put their filthy paws all over him.

“Ah shit! Don’t taze my bros! Just stay calm, I gotta get them their snacks.” Emil sat the fifth of vodka on the table and went back into the kitchen for a bag of marshmallows.

“Whatever you say, Snow White,” Ivo muttered. He tried to look more inconvenienced than worried, but then one of the larger raccoons climbed onto his knees and sniffed his face. “Emil!” He snarled, “we’ll both have to be deloused! We’ll need rabies shots! Call animal control right now before they maul us!”

Emil came around the corner and groaned. “You didn’t even bring the babies? Just your boyfriends? What the fuck, lady?!” He opened the front door and held open the screen door, opening the bag of marshmallows and beckoning the animals to him. “C’mon guys, I need a little privacy tonight. Come get some marshmallows…”

It was immediately apparent to Ivo that Emil was paying no mind to his obvious discomfort. He clenched his fists and growled, which elicited a similar response from the raccoon perched on his knees.

Emil opened his front closet and fished around for a pair of heavy work gloves, just in case. “Don’t be silly! They ain’t rabid. If they were you would’ve known it by now.” He reached into the marshmallow bag and spread a handful across the front porch. The raccoons took it as their cue to leave and followed the food. Once the bag was empty, Emil shut and locked the door, removed his gloves, and reached under the couch. “They keep normal hours, they’re not afraid of water, they don’t move all weird… C’mon. You think I’d let you get mauled? They ain’t gonna maul you, it’s fine.”

He glanced up and smiled while Ivo glared down at him. “What?” He didn’t wait for a reply, reaching down again to move a cinderblock over the plywood he used to block the hole in the floor. He did his damnedest not to laugh at Ivo’s quiet conniption fit. “Guess I’ll have to screw this thing shut, huh?”

“Emil. I am going to have to incinerate these clothes now.”

“Nah, just take them off and I’ll wash them for you.” He hoped that didn’t come across the wrong way. Well, he only half-hoped. Ivo probably had a girlfriend or something, maybe a trophy wife. He didn’t seem like that kind of person though, at least he didn’t back in the day. Besides, nothing came up about a significant other whenever he Googled him (occasionally, only occasionally) and there was, in fact, nothing much to be found about his personal life at all online or in print.

Ivo watched him as he unscrewed the cap of the vodka bottle. “I would, but they’re dry-clean only. Now come here! Those stupid animals are gone and it’s just us now.”

Emil sat down with a sigh, gladly sinking into his old couch when Ivo kicked up his feet onto his lap. Emil twisted around so that they were facing each other. Now all they had to do was pedal their feet together, replace the vodka with soda… Was that why Ivo was here? To relive the old days and leave when he got bored?

Ivo tipped his head back as he downed a mouthful of vodka, his eyes on Emil the whole time. He winced and handed it back to Emil before grabbing the remote. He flipped through the streaming services before deciding on one and immediately going through Emil’s watch-list.

“You’ve changed, Emil. Both of us have, but you most of all.”

“You sure about that?” Emil took a swig, then another, and passed the bottle back to Ivo. “You’re a CEO. You have more money than God.”

“And what does that matter, really?” Before Emil could answer, he continued. “We were supposed to be professors at the same college. You and me, tenured and raising hell in our respective departments. The bane of everyone in our fields.” He sighed and leaned his head against the couch, dark eyes locking with dark eyes. “Are you disappointed, Emil? Are you disappointed in me?”

Emil shook his head as Ivo took another gulp. “In neither of us. Life just didn’t pan out the way we planned it, that’s all.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, his eyes on the pictures hung on the wall around the dining area, on the framed hamsa that his sister had painted for him in sixth grade, the old coyote pelt nailed to his wall. “I think I made out pretty good in the end. My family still loves me, I got a good job—union too. I still go hunting with my uncle. I got a cat lying around here somewhere, good neighbors, good shrink…”

All of that would have to do. It was more than most people had, wasn’t it? He took the bottle and drank until it made his eyes water. It burned all the way down, and he wanted to vomit. He watched as Ivo went through all his streaming activity, service by service. He wondered what Ivo was trying to find out, but he didn’t bother trying to get a straight answer.

“Oh, your—uhh, your company’s Facebook page? They liked my status after I got top surgery. Thanks?”

“Ah yes, that… I specifically instructed my social media team to like your status. I keep tabs on you too. I don’t have a personal account though, and neither should you.”

Ivo kept tabs on him. Was that a threat, or a hint? “Government’s got all my info anyway.”

“Corporations are worse.” Ivo smiled to himself before turning to face Emil. His eyes roamed from Emil’s face, to the faint scar on his left cheek, to that long curly hair, to the rest of his body. He grabbed the bottle and finished it all off, licking his lips afterward.

The sudden, heavy alcohol intake was working its magic, and quickly. “Hey! Check it out!” Emil flexed his arm for Ivo, hairy and sinewy, dark from days of being shirtless just because he could. “I’m all hairy now, see? I mean it’s pale n’ stuff, but—” He gasped and tensed up as Ivo felt his arm and gave it a firm squeeze. Was he humoring him? He was just humoring him. He felt so dumb, like maybe he should go full-bore and crush a beer can on his head—

“Mmm, I see…” Ivo leaned forward and ran a gloved hand through the light chest hair that stuck out from the neckline of his wifebeater, up his neck and across his stubble, only to give him a light pat on the cheek before sitting back with a satisfied smile. “Not much of a beard, though.”

Emil giggled, and he covered his mouth as if he could stop the noise from escaping. His face was red up to his ears, and his head swam. “C’mon man, I’m workin’ on it! I can grow out my sideburns, but the rest of it… eh. A-and look at you with that mustache!”

Ivo rested his chin on his hand. “Classy, isn’t it? No need to answer that. We both already know it is.”

Emil laughed again. “You’re killin’ me Ivo. C’mon, what’re we watching?”

They ended up watching Daria. Two episodes in, Emil passed out.

________________________________________

The morning greeted Emil with a pounding headache and cotton-mouth, and a dire need to close the blinds and pull the curtains. He did neither of those things, and instead lay helpless on the couch. He noticed that there was a waste bucket near his head on the floor, and that he was wrapped up in a soft old afghan. On the coffee table, among the junk-mail and the disorganized notes from God knew which books, was one of the unused glasses from last night. It was full of water and, sitting next to it was a bottle of ibuprofen.

An orange tabby was watching Emil from his perch on top of his hips. He looked annoyed. It took Emil a split-second to remember why: there was a guest in the house, one that probably hadn’t paid him any attention, or any nice attention, at least. While he scratched him behind the ear, he noticed Ivo skulking around his bookshelves, examining the titles, inspecting the tchotchkes, pulling out a book here and there and thumbing through the pages.

Ivo must have noticed he was awake, because now his mouth was moving, and words were coming out. “_The Failure of Nonviolence_… Hm. _Interesting_,” Ivo hissed. He gently put the tattered paperback in its place before picking up a different one. His tone returned to normal—his dear, barely suppressed outdoor voice. “_Das Kapital_. Only the first volume? I see Chomsky’s been invited too, and Zinn, and our old friends Babel and Pushkin. Just like old times! Just like old times…” He stopped and picked up a worn old copy of _Demons_. There was a genuine smile on his face, a softening of his expression. All the age and hardness of the years faded for a moment, but then the moment passed, and he carefully re-shelved the novel. “And then there’s this _Nag Hammadi_, whatever that is. What is it, anyway? I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it. Why don’t I make us some coffee and we can—” Ivo paused, pulling another book off the shelf. He gave Emil a deadpan look of disbelief, or maybe disapproval. “_Communion?_ Really, Emil… _Really_.”

Emil groaned and rubbed his eyes. He tried to speak with his gluey mouth and then took a few sips of water. It burned going down his rough throat, and for neither the first nor the last time in his life, he wondered just what the fuck he’d been thinking last night.

“Come on, sit up and take your pills.” Ivo lowered his voice as he went to Emil’s side, pulling him into a sitting position. “You slept with your phone in your pocket and everything!” Without asking, Ivo removed the phone from Emil’s front pocket, feeling around for it first as if it wasn’t a giant, easy-to-grab rectangle that almost filled the pocket. “You’re lucky it didn’t burn you!” He opened the bottle of pills and pressed two of them into Emil’s hand, putting the glass of water into the other. “Here you go, drink up. I’ll plug your phone in for you. I already know where the cord is.” He wrapped his old friend up in the afghan as Emil downed the pills, and then whisked himself away to plug the phone in.

The cat slinked onto Emil’s lap and rolled onto his belly, purring loudly for him. “How long’s he been up, Dozy?” He muttered. He drank the rest of his water and sat back, hands over his aching eyes. He heard Ivo come back into the room, and before he knew it, a cool, moist washcloth was pressed against his forehead. “You can really put it away, huh?”

Ivo patted his cheek and went into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t say I have a problem or anything, but yes, of course I can! Do you want coffee? I’m making some coffee. Do you want anything in yours?”

Emil sighed. He could hear his mother now—he was being a bad host. He needed to serve breakfast. He shouldn’t let this man wander around and look through his things…

Oh God, especially not his sock drawer. The color drained from his face. “I’ll make the coffee, just relax.” Emil rallied himself and checked his fridge and cabinets to see what kind of breakfast he could pull together. Soon they were seated at the table with coffee and cheap ramen bowls. If Ivo found this meal subpar, he didn’t show it. Then again, he didn’t seem all that hungry either.

Now that he wasn’t being ushered around his own living room or dead drunk, Emil struggled to start a conversation. Where would he even begin? "So… remember any of that shit they taught us at St. Mary's?"

"Of course. How could I forget all of that religious nonsense? It still amazes me that anyone puts any stock in Christianity, or any religion."

"I dunno, you seemed to really like the Queen of Heaven herself." He'd sometimes find him in the chapel, staring at the statue of Mary. He'd always told Emil that he was just thinking, and that the chapel was a quiet place to do so. Once, Emil found a statuette of Mary in one of his drawers. He'd said nothing about it to Ivo, of course.

"There was some beautiful artwork in that school, I'll admit that much. It's a good thing I decided upon attending that school."

Emil smiled up at him fondly. "Because you met me?"

"Because you wouldn't have graduated until you were in your twenties. Your grasp of basic algebra was heart-wrenching! And don't even get me started on your chemistry grades…"

"Yeah, I guess." Emil scowled and looked back down at his breakfast. "Good thing you were there to tie my shoes for me too."

“Oh, please. Give yourself some credit!” Was that sarcasm in his tone? Of course it was.

“Yeah, you’re right! I mean, I am the one who got you to stop wearing your school uniform everywhere. You looked like a fucking fed.” Emil paused, thinking while he chewed his noodles. “Come to think of it, your whole wardrobe looked like that when I met you—all these cardigans n’ dress pants n’ shit.” He looked up at Ivo. “I don’t think I ever asked you why…”

Ivo had a strange look on his face. It might have been embarrassment on anyone else’s, or mild panic.

“Oh. Uhh… did I hit a nerve or something?”

“No! No, no, I’d just… never really thought about it. I wore what my father wore because that’s how I thought people dressed—at least when I was in elementary school. All children emulate their parents. It simply didn’t seem necessary to change my habits. Why?”

Emil shrugged. “Just wondering. You want another cup of coffee? One’s not gonna do it if you wanna burn a hole in your stomach lining.”

“Emil…”

“Yeah?” he was already out of his seat, Ivo’s mug in his hand.

“Do you have any more marshmallows? I’d like some.”

“Yeah, yeah, lemme get them.” Emil turned away and smiled fondly. It looked like his friend’s sweet tooth hadn’t rotted away yet. The man could have filet mignon, swordfish, whatever the hell he wanted every night, but knowing him he’d probably eat a bag of Laffy Taffy or Skittles instead. Every holiday was his favorite; he couldn’t get enough chocolate coins, candy corn, almond bark, Jordan almonds, chocolate rabbits…

The more Emil thought about it, the more he remembered how hard it was to get him to eat anything else sometimes. Yet here he was, skinny as ever. He’d probably blow away in a strong enough gust if he didn’t wear that big wool coat of his. It was strange. If he was living on nothing but junk food and booze, he shouldn’t be alive, or at least shouldn’t be healthy. Here he was though, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for another day instead of dragging his feet or vomiting.

Was he on crack? It couldn’t be meth. All his teeth were still there. Maybe it was Adderall. Whatever it was, it seemed to make him charming most of the time. Emil had forgotten how chatty his friend was. Taking him to the theater was always dicey at best. But he would listen to him for hours when he was younger, and not much had changed now, it seemed.

Every breakfast, every evening, every dinner would be like this. If Ivo still only slept two or three hours a night, then he’d be up waiting for him when he had to pull night shifts, or when he had some freelance work to do. Emil wouldn’t need an alarm clock anymore. He’d need a lot more candy around the house, though…

Ivo leaned forward in his chair and placed his chin on his hands. “What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout?” He asked in a dreamy tone. Emil realized he’d been staring and shook his head. He could feel the contents of his belly sloshing around, and he quickly took a seat.

“Nothin’, just spaced out for a second. Here.” He reached across the table and set the mug down and handed Ivo the bag of marshmallows. Ivo tore it open and popped one of the giant marshmallows into his mouth happily.

“So. Emil. Let’s talk business.”


	2. The Cookout ("It Was A Good Day" by Ice Cube)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robotnik invades Emil's privacy, Emil puts him in a headlock, and then there's a block party. Also, who's that young gentleman in the nice suit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! Bet you thought I'd never come back, huh? Well don't worry, I have access to a word processor, an internet connection, and a gazillion dumb ideas just waiting to be unloaded into your sensitive little eyes!
> 
> Questions? Concerns? Scathing criticism? Feel free to let me know and I may or may not give you an intelligible response.

Ivo pulled a tattered file folder from somewhere in his wool coat and slammed it down on the table, just a little too loudly for Emil’s ears. “I’ve been doing some—”

“Jesus!” Emil rubbed his temples and blinked. “Where’d you—where’d that come from?”

“Uhh, pockets. Duh.” Ivo held up his coat and, indeed, there was an assortment of pockets in the lining of his coat. Ivo shoved another marshmallow into his mouth and continued. “I’ve done some research on your work history, Emil. Your CV is diverse and _so very interesting_.” He swallowed and smiled at his old friend. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Emil narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure where this was all going, but he didn’t like it.

“I see you’ve been a school bus driver for ten years now. No moving violations, no DUIs, and from what I’ve heard, the parents and the children all love you. Isn’t that nice? It sounds like you’re a real pillar of the community.”

Emil shrugged. “I guess.” Maybe it would end there, with some more condescending remarks. _Please, let this conversation go in another direction_…

Ivo ate another marshmallow, taking the time to chew it and swallow before talking this time. “It looks like you’ve done some freelance work as well. Let’s talk about that.”

“Ivo—”

He continued in a breezy tone, ignoring Emil. “Breaking legs, intimidation, cutting chains on the dumpsters behind… grocery stores. Why though? I don’t understand that one, Emil. No money in things like that. It looks like you’ve been seen slashing tires though, breaking windows, trespassing…”

“Hey now—”

Ivo held up a finger and shushed him. “I’m not done yet! It looks like money has changed hands in most cases here. None of the clients that my agents have gotten in touch with had a bad thing to say about you! Isn’t that weird? Though there was this one family in Idaho… the Wachowskis, I believe.” He grabbed another marshmallow from the bag and shoved it in his mouth. He leaned back as he ate, studying Emil’s reaction.

All those noodles were about to come back up. Emil felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand up. “What the fuck? I don’t know who those people are!”

“Oh, of course you would, Emil. You’d know of one Bradley Wachowski, wouldn’t you? You beat him into a coma. You broke his jaw in several places, smashed both of his kneecaps… and _no one caught you._ No one saw you!” Ivo quirked an eyebrow and smiled broadly, leaning his head against his hand. “Very professional. I'm impressed. You really know how to send a message, don’t you?”

“How do you know that then? Where’d you get all that?!” Emil’s vision slowly started to turn on its ear, and the air around him felt frigid on that balmy August morning. He didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping his arms now, or that he’d done so at all. The gorge was rising. His mouth twitched, and his chest tightened. _No one had seen him._ He wore a balaclava. It was two in the morning and the man had no partner with him. Everything was executed perfectly. He’d been watching the news and reading the papers for weeks, months, after it had happened, and there had been no indication that he was a suspect. It was his first big job, and it wasn’t even a murder…

Ivo furrowed his brow. He leaned forward and reached out to Emil, but Emil jumped out of his chair, knocking it over as he backed away on unsteady feet. Ivo stood and wrapped him in his arms the way a vet would wrap a feral cat in a thick towel. “How did you know? Who the fuck did you talk to?” Emil snarled and tried to pull himself loose. “Get off of me!”

Ivo’s tone was soothing, one suited for frightened children. “Emil, there’s always a witness. As long as there’s a transaction, there’s _always_ a witness. Just take deep breaths, Emil. Breathe—_guh_!”

Emil kidney punched him as hard as he could in close quarters. It wasn’t very strong, but it was enough to loosen Ivo’s grip on him. Ivo must have been taken off-guard completely, the arrogant bastard. Emil knocked his arms away easily and headbutted him in the chest before dragging him down into a headlock.

“Who told you all that, you bastard?! I want names!”

“I already told y—” he gasped as Emil’s arm tightened around his neck. “Emil! Stop this at once—"

“Don’t order me around in _my fucking home!_” Emil growled, jerking him down toward the floor.

Ivo snarled and got one foot under himself before twisting his body around. He slammed his shoulder into Emil’s chest and both of them went down. Both of them grunted, and the back of Ivo’s head smacked into Emil’s jaw.

Emil was winded. Ivo took this opportunity to squirm free of his grip and straddle his chest. He pinned Emil’s wrists to the floor and paused to catch his breath before he finally spoke, staring down at him the whole time with a strange expression, gleeful in a predatory way.

“_I already told you!_ Corporations are worse than the government. And the two of them combined? It was only a matter of time before I connected the dots. I was curious about what my dear, sweet friend was up to, so I did a little research, that’s all!” He leaned down until his mustache brushed Emil’s ear. “I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that. I’m so sorry, Emil,” he whispered.

Emil closed his eyes, and he tried to take slow, deep breaths. It was just Ivo. It was just his high school friend. He could trust him. _He could trust him_. Every day, every moment, was a chance for Emil to make a conscious decision not to be paranoid of people’s motives. At the very least, he could always give people just enough rope to hang themselves with. And how was Ivo any different?

He should be different though. He should be trustworthy. He always had a hard time controlling his curiosity, right? It was never a problem when they were kids. He only ever wanted to see and understand; no one ever got hurt. His body was warm, and having his weight on him, his face so close to his… It was hard for Emil to remember that they were supposed to be fighting. He sighed and relaxed. Maybe he’d overreacted. _Just let this pan out, see what happens…_

When it became obvious that Emil was no longer an immediate threat, Ivo stood. He helped him up and led him over to the couch. He sat Emil down and wrapped the afghan around him, and he took a seat beside him.

After a minute of silence, Emil finally felt like he could speak again. “Why are you telling me all this? Who else knows?”

“No one.” Ivo smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind Emil’s ear. “You know I’ll never put you in harm’s way. Your secrets are safe with me. They’ve always been safe with me.” He placed his hand on Emil’s knee. “Do you feel better?”

He didn’t. His head was throbbing, and he was so tired.

Ivo gently squeezed his knee and stood up. He went back to the table and collected the dirty dishes, taking care to remove his gloves first. “The reason that I told you all of this is that I need your help. I need people like you—people that I can rely on, people who are professional, competent, and quiet. The police officer you assaulted will be fine. His community covered all his medical expenses for him, and he’s seeing a therapist now. Isn't that nice?” He emptied the coffee mugs and placed them in the dishwasher with the forks and disposed of the empty ramen bowls. He sat down next to Emil again, gloves in one hand, and sighed deeply. “I don’t know how anyone in his community would feel about those strange tattoos all over his body… though maybe that’s the point of this whole mess, hm? I know for certain that you’ve made one or two families in that town feel much safer. You’re a good man, Emil. I never doubted that for a second. You’ve always wanted to make people feel safe, and you’ve made that happen.”

Emil glanced up at him wearily. Looking back, it probably made things worse for those families. For all he knew, the police in that community were doubling down on their bullshit, and now they had practically the whole township backing them up. He should have thought it through. He never should have taken that job… “Why are you here? What do you need me for?”

“I need you to help me feel safe. Like I said, I need someone efficient, quiet, and loyal most of all. Can I count on you?” The way he asked it… it wasn’t desperate, not the voice of a man who was at the end of his rope. There was a different kind of urgency behind it though, something old and personal. He pulled Emil closer to him, and Emil couldn’t help but lean his head against his shoulder.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, Ilyich.”

“And now that I’ve found you, I’ll _always_ take care of you. It’s been so many years, though! I’m so excited to see you again! Will you come work for me?”

“Work for you?”

“Yes! I’d like for you to be one of my agents. They prevent issues, they solve problems, they smooth things out, and best of all, they’re paid handsomely. What do you think?” Ivo gave him a boyish smile, waiting for him to say yes.

“Wait,” Emil sat up straight. The fog of his post-panic, post-brawl, mid-hangover exhaustion began to clear up. “So, what, this is a full-time gig? Exclusive?”

“Mmhmmm!” Ivo sprang to his feet and grabbed the folder from the table. He sat back down and thumbed through it before finding some legal forms. “No need to write a cover letter, no applications to fill out—just a few signatures here and there. I’ve already highlighted where you need to sign. I even filled in the dates of signature for you, see?”

Emil turned in his seat and looked at him. Ivo wasn’t just excited. He looked like he was ready to pounce on him… or simply glomp him, to use ancient vernacular. Well, it was nice to entertain the thought, whether it was a real or perceived observation. There was a secret flame in those sharp, dark eyes; ever since Emil knew him, that fire had always been there. He was driven, but in a quiet, seething way. He always seemed to have some ultimate calling, and everything else in life was done only to advance this mission. It was a compelling force, something that kept people’s attention on him, something charismatic, and Emil was already swept up in the current again. It felt good to be part of his plans. But as he took the pen, and as he signed each document, Emil still wondered, for neither the first nor the last time in his life, just what the fuck he was thinking.

Once the final signature was put to paper, Ivo set aside the pen, and he took Emil’s hand in both of his. “Now Emil,” he locked eyes with him as he spoke, “before I accept these documents, I want you to think hard about this. What I’m asking you to do is… well, it’s not really something that people would want to put on their resumé. But you know that already, don’t you? You’ve always been so good at reading between the lines. Besides, once you work for me, you’ll never have to update your resumé again! I mean that you’ll work for me until you’re ready to retire. Nothing bad will happen to you—nothing that I can’t fix. Are you ready?”

“Hold on…” Emil grabbed his reading glasses from the table and took another look at the contracts and NDAs and other paperwork. Ivo frowned.

“Since when do you need glasses?”

“Since my eyes started going bad. Runs in the family, y’know?” It was hard to concentrate. He didn’t want to read every single word on any of these pages, and nothing in particular stood out to him. What he needed was a long nap and a cold soda to get rid of the headache. He probably should have taken his meds too. “Hey, Ivo? Do I get to bring Dozy with me?”

“Who?”

Emil pointed down at the big orange tabby rubbing against their legs. Ivo sneered and resisted the urge to shove it away from him. “If you must,” he muttered.

“Great!” Emil handed over the documents, keeping the carbon copies for himself. “So, I’ll have to give my two weeks at the bus depot—”

“Oh no, there’s no need for that. I’ve already taken care of everything for you.”

“But… But can’t I at least say goodbye to the kids?”

Ivo just laughed and patted his cheek. “I’m sure you can visit them at school or something! They’ll be fine.”

“That’s probably illegal, and weird too. Can I at least have a day to get everything together?”

“Of course! There’s no rush, no rush at all! The sooner I get you to the compound though, the better…” Ivo slipped his arm around Emil’s waist, and he gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait, Emil. I’ve been planning this day for so long!” He gathered his things, stood up, and put his coat back on. As if on cue, his phone buzzed. “Ah, there’s my driver. Good. You see, Emil? I hire only the best. I’ll be here tomorrow evening around six. Pack up whatever you want to bring with you… including… that.” He nodded toward Dozy, who was now back on Emil’s lap.

“He’s my emotional support animal.”

“And I’m legally required to allow him on the premises. Just make sure to keep him in your apartment.”

“Wait, my what?” Emil finally, _finally_, caught up with what was really happening. “I’m moving? Where to?”

Ivo was already out the door. “Read the fine print, my friend! See you tomorrow!” The front door slammed shut, followed by the screen door.

Emil leaned back and stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

* * *

Much to his horror, Ivo arrived to find a throng of people gathered around Emil’s trailer. Smoke was billowing from the front porch. It wasn’t until he heard the loud music and laughter that he realized that neither he nor Emil were in danger. Even worse… it was a block party.

As he emerged from the black Suburban, he dodged a group of unruly children on bikes and growled. Another man stepped out of the SUV, wearing a black suit and tie and sporting a neatly trimmed beard. He had dark skin, dark eyes, and a strong, handsome profile. He went to Ivo’s side immediately, dusting off his coat and straightening it out for him. He scanned the crowd and, determining that there was no immediate threat, followed him to the front porch of the trailer.

On their way up two men walked out of the trailer carrying a recliner, followed by another man with a blender and a microwave. Ivo sneered at them and clenched his fists. His companion stepped forward, reaching into his jacket.

“It’s okay! It’s all good!” Emil rushed down to greet them and held up his hands. “Don’t worry, they’re just taking my old stuff. Not like I need it, right?” He patted the breast pocket of his flannel where his contract was folded roughly. “Says here in the fine print that I don’t gotta worry about furnishings.” He gave Ivo a bear hug, which Ivo gladly reciprocated. The man in the black suit furrowed his brow, and when Emil extended his hand it took him a moment to accept it. “Name’s Emil Sobel. So, we’re gonna be coworkers or something, huh? What’s your name?”

Before the man could speak, Ivo interjected. “This is Agent Stone. You’ll be working with him quite often as you move through your training.” He clasped his hands together and grinned, watching the two of them. “Isn’t this great? Just wait until you meet the other agents! Now,” Ivo’s expression soured as he watched a woman and her son carry out a flat-screen TV. “Why are these people taking your meager possessions? Are they paying you? _You can’t just let them walk away with your things, Emil._”

Emil laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. He gestured to an old man sitting by a cooler, and he tossed him a couple bottles of beer. “Sure I can! I already packed up my personal stuff, so whatever I don’t want, they can take. It’s the neighborly thing to do.” He offered the beers to his two most recent guests. Ivo recoiled and shook his head, and Agent Stone took his after a moment of hesitation. Emil uncapped his before handing his bottle opener to Stone.

“Honestly?” He leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think they’re kinda worried I’m on the run or something. Won’t stop them from takin’ my stuff, but that’s fine by me. Oh hey! Is that the moving truck? Looks kinda big.” He clinked glasses with Stone, who seemed overwhelmed and annoyed, and he took a swig.

Ivo peered over the crowd and saw that the black truck had indeed arrived. “How many boxes do you actually have left now that your wonderful neighbors have absconded with all your things?” He sneered and recoiled as two screaming children brushed past him, pursued by an equally noisy dog who was apparently having the time of its life. He sighed and removed his _pince-nez_, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did they take the cat too?”

“Pfft! Nice try, Ivo. He’s right over there.” Emil nodded to a middle-aged woman in a lawn chair. Dozy sat contentedly on her lap in his harness, and she held the leash. She saw Ivo and Agent Stone and she smiled and waved, and then went back to feeding Dozy little pieces of under-cooked meat.

“Emil. How long is this going to take?”

“Not much longer, probably. Food’s almost out. Oh! C’mon up guys, you gotta try these burgers!”

“Do we?” Ivo followed Emil anyway with his lackey close behind him.

“Yeah! I caught those deer myself, a short, swift death. Here—” He took over at the grill again, where a gangly teenager had been covering for him. He fixed up two venison cheeseburgers for his newest guests and plated them. “Here. Just try ‘em. Trust me. Got some venison _arrachera_ too, but I think that might’ve been a weird combination…”

And so, Agent Stone and Ivo Ilyich Robotnik found themselves on a smoky porch surrounded by sweaty, drunk strangers and eating game. The whole area was fragrant with propane and citronella, and the music was loud and annoying, but at least the burgers were good. Stone nursed his beer as the three of them watched movers and neighbors alike enter and exit the trailer with boxes and furniture. Emil tended the grill, chatting with people as they passed by.

As soon as he was finished eating, Ivo wiped his mouth and set the paper plate aside. “Well, Agent Stone and I will wait in the car until you’re done with… with these people. You won’t be much longer, will you?”

“Don’t you guys wanna stay a little longer? It’s almost over.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.” He gave Emil a less than genuine smile. “We’ll just be over there. Whenever you’re ready, Emil.” Without another word, he scuttled off the porch with Agent Stone right alongside him.

It seemed more than a little rude, but Emil shrugged it off and finished his Corona. He had the old man toss him another one, which he opened on the railing of the porch before tending once more to the meat on the grill. The meat ran out shortly after the movers collected all of his boxes—books, clothes, cards and pictures, the personal stuff off his walls, the afghans his grandma had made him over the years. One for every birthday, shifting from pastels to other, bolder colors like a personal timeline. She’d been one of the first in the family to support him when he came out, and she’d made a camo afghan for him that very year at his uncle's suggestion.

Emil stared thoughtfully over the lid of the grill and out at the line of yards and trailers, and he smiled. The sun was a deep orange, just hitting the tree line. Soon they’d need the porch light, and the tiki torches wouldn’t be enough to keep the yard lit. Excited as he was for what lay ahead, he already missed this part of his life. How many of these people would he ever hear from again? Would he ever run into them, having moved halfway across the country? It didn’t matter in the end, he decided. He kept in contact with two—now three—people from high school nowadays. He was sure the only one from the bus depot to remember his absence would be the dispatcher, who’d most likely cuss him out the moment she got ahold of him. His own family had been a thready constant in his life through all his ups and downs, if only on account of his total withdrawal from society in his mid-twenties. It didn’t actually matter though, did it? There were new people to meet, new social norms to get used to. This was neither the beginning nor the end of such changes. Life was just a multilayered state of transitions, and there was little time to get comfortable. But maybe he could find some comfort in the company of his old friend, his Abelard…

He had the gas off and was scrubbing away at the crust on the grill when he heard a car horn. Many of the attendees had tapered off by then; it was just the people from the adjacent lots now, chatting over wine coolers near one of the torches. Emil ran inside, took a leak, and came back out in his old brown duck jacket—the last thing left in his trailer. He picked up Dozy from the old woman’s lap and thanked her for babysitting him.

“Who’s that guy?” She asked, nodding toward the Suburban.

“Oh! He’s, uhh, he’s an old friend of mine.”

“_Riiiight_. If I had a ‘friend’ like him, I’d break it off. Sitting in the car, pouting like that… He ain't worth the upkeep, son. That other guy seemed nice though. You know—the one who was followin’ him all over like a lost puppy?”

Emil laughed a little too loud, holding Dozy in both arms. “Yeah, they’re like that sometimes! Anyway, uhh, keep in touch guys, alright? Take care!” Without another word, Emil rushed to the SUV and climbed inside.

Ivo had been slouched over with his arms crossed in the way back, but once he saw Emil he sat straight up and motioned to him. There was a cat carrier on the floor in the middle row, which Emil pointedly ignored. Agent Stone was at the wheel, watching him with an unreadable expression. Emil nodded to him before shutting the door. He took his jacket off and bundled it up for a pillow in case he got tired and sat down with Dozy on the floor nearby. “So, no air travel, huh?”

“No, not tonight. Sometimes I like to keep a low profile. Right?” He winked at Agent Stone, who nodded and pulled out of the gravel side road and toward the entrance to the trailer park. Ivo leaned back and scooted closer, hanging one arm over the top of the seat and around Emil’s shoulders. “It’s a long drive to the compound. I have some Ambien if you’d rather sleep the whole way there.” He must have noticed how shocked he looked, because Ivo backed away just a hair. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Nobody’s forcing you!”

“Y’know, most people don’t ask before they drug someone. That’s kinda sweet of you. You could just blindfold me if you really don’t want me to see where we’re going… assuming you think I can’t use a map n' a compass.”

Ivo just laughed and ruffled Emil's long hair. “Oh, you silly thing! I’m just being polite. The more you sleep, the faster you’ll get there, right?” He leaned his head toward Emil’s, glancing sidelong at Agent Stone as he did so. “I might even join you, in fact,” he whispered. “I have such a hard time sleeping, Emil. I could use a little rest…” He already had the bottle in his hand. He held it up and rattled it, giving Emil what must have been intended to be an alluring look. It was hard to tell with Ivo.

One whiff of him and Emil could tell he was full of whiskey again. The man was one spark away from spontaneous combustion. He sighed and gently took the bottle of pills away from his friend, setting them firmly into the cup holder beside him. Ivo leaned over and reached across Emil to take them back. He opened the bottle and popped one of them into his mouth, crunching it up and letting it dissolve under his tongue. He winced and made a sour face.

“Yeah. _Yeah_. I bet that didn’t taste great, huh? Gimme those!” Emil grabbed the pills again and shoved them into his pants pocket. Ivo’s hand wasn’t far behind, snaking its way over his lap and into his pocket. Emil slapped it away.

“Come on! Maybe we’ll be in the same dream together.”

“That’s the gayest shit you’ve ever said. No more pills!”

Ivo was halfway onto Emil’s lap now. Dozy was on the floor with his ears back, watching this foolishness with about as much irritation as the man up front. “Just take one with me. Pleeeease?”

“Fine. I’ll take one. I stopped taking this shit years ago though. Doesn’t do much for me anymore.”

Ivo twisted around in his seat, lying with his head on Emil’s lap and with his legs folded awkwardly against the far window. “I know. Just take two then, okay?”

Emil paused and glared down at him. “What do you mean ‘you know?’ Ugh, never mind...” With a sigh, Emil did as he was told, taking two sublingually. He waited as long as he could before he grabbed a bottle of water and tried to wash the bitterness out of his mouth. He bundled his cellphone deep into his rolled-up jacket to avoid making any weird texts and gave his cat a resigned shrug of the shoulders. Soon, Emil and Ivo were slumped together in blissful slumber. The cat moved its way up front and sat shotgun with Agent Stone, who gave him a gentle rub behind the ears as he drove on.


	3. The Confession ("At The Heart Of It All" by Coil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's a father who's too earnest, too tender, and too selfish. He expects nothing from you. Sina is a delightful OC created by shadyaxolotl on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This correspondence, written by Agent Stone, was intercepted by Agent █████████ and presented to Dr. Ivo Robotnik for further review. The agent in question expressed concern that the contents of this letter contained incriminating statements which could be a liability to the doctor and to his corporation. Upon reading this letter, the doctor smiled and handed it back to Agent █████████.
> 
> "There's nothing to worry about. Just make sure it gets to his daughter."

Dearest Sina,

You’re eighteen now. Legally, you’re allowed to contact me without anyone else’s permission. I don’t have your phone number, and I don’t want to be an unwanted presence in your life, but my number is [redacted] if you ever want to speak to me. It’s up to you. If you never want to see me or hear from me again, then this will be my last attempt to contact you. I want to spend time with you, but you might agree that I have no right to ask that. I only want you to know the whole truth—a confession of sorts.

I don’t know how much your mother has told you over the years regarding the cause of our separation, or about why she filed a restraining order in addition to taking custody of you. Whatever she’s told you, it’s more palatable since she doesn’t have all the details regarding how I met the doctor, and about what transpired during the experiment. I can promise you that. The internship pales in comparison to this.

I was a freshman when I met him. It was a Friday night, and I was walking home to my apartment. It was a few blocks past the frat houses, all of which were full of light and noise, and the kind of foolishness that all parents are obligated to warn you away from. One house at the end of the block though—I can’t remember which fraternity it was, but I want to say Phi Beta Kappa—this house was relatively quiet. The lights in the windows were dim, like the residents were holding a séance.

I was curious, of course. Now that I look back there was no real reason for me to care, but I followed this sudden impulse and approached the house. There was music, but only faint from the outside. It was as if they didn’t want to attract any attention, assuming anyone was inside at all.

Sina, I shouldn’t have opened the door! It will never be closed again.

I turned the knob and pushed it open a crack, wanting only to peek inside and then leave, but of course that’s not what happened. Darkness suddenly filled that space, the form of a man clad all in black and a head taller than me. His eyes were like a cold, starless night, and his smile made me want to flee, but like a rabbit I was petrified by his stare. This moment passed too quickly for me to escape, because he yanked me by the shirt into the building and I gave no resistance.

The door slammed shut and he drew me further inside, leading me with one hand on the small of my back. The hairs on my arms and legs rose at his touch. The physical sensation of having made a fatal mistake churned my innards and made my pulse skyrocket. Still I let him lead me. Neither of us said a word. His expression was like that of one friend leading another into a surprise birthday party.

He sat me down on a couch and then sat himself down beside me. He poured me white wine and placed the tumbler in my hand. It was Riesling, I think. It had the faintest taste of mold. He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “don’t drink what they’re drinking.” He grinned at me (it was an intoxicating blend of boyishness and cruelty,) and he downed his glass before pouring himself another. Watching his hands, I realized that he was wearing black kidskin gloves.

“Don’t touch anything else,” he added. His arm was around my waist again. He leaned back. “You don’t belong here. You shouldn’t have looked. You could end up like them.” He motioned, glass in hand, to the other people in the room.

Neither completely unconscious nor entirely awake, these young men and women sat around with dreamy, vacant expressions. A few talked to each other, but I wasn’t listening to them. The cold, tight feeling in my stomach, not quite nausea, occupied my thoughts until he pulled me closer.

“They’re much more tolerable like this, aren’t they? And it makes it harder for them to realize what’s happening.” His lips were at my ear again. As if he smelled my fear he paused for a moment, breathing down my neck. I didn’t move. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He seemed pleased by my reaction. “_They’ll never escape._”

I didn’t know what to say. I was mortified, and certain that I would die that night. We watched the small group of students in silence. Eventually I turned my attention back to the one who’d brought me here. He wasn’t really that much older than me, despite what your mother claims. He was maybe eight years older at most, but his eyes suggested that he’d lived longer and harder than everyone else on campus.

“I'll spare you,” he said. “I was just thinking to myself that it would be nice to share this moment with someone else—to show them my handiwork in progress. You're lucky. Do you know why you’re lucky?” He turned his head and locked eyes with me. His grin was maniacal and entrancing.

I couldn’t look away. Frightened as I was, I wanted him to keep staring into my eyes, to bore into my mind and flow like black ink into clear water… I was huddled close to him, I realized, and of my own volition. The nearer I was to this man, the further I was from whatever would happen next. He was my Satanic Virgil, guiding me on a tour of this hell of his own design. He noticed, and he held me tighter still, nearly pulling me onto his lap. My heart pounded harder than ever since entering that house.

“Because you’re about to see what happens when creatures like us are stripped of all humanity.”

This whole time, I hadn’t noticed the remote in his hand. I hadn’t noticed the speakers set up around the room. Of course I hadn’t. Once the speakers were on my attention was elsewhere.

What happened was Carcosan. The change was immediate. Every person in the room, who’d previously been docile and distracted, turned immediately on each other and themselves. They were howling and shrieking wordlessly, screaming until their voices were hoarse or until their throats were filled with blood. They crawled on all fours. They slashed at each other’s flesh with their nails, biting down and shaking their victims between their teeth like dogs, prying open the wounds, coming away with their mouths full of blood and meat. Some clawed at the walls, like animals before an earthquake, until their fingernails tore away and the walls were streaked with their blood. One simply knelt and stared heavenward, keening at the sight of something that was not present until he was out of breath, only to start again. Another man grabbed his face and pressed his thumbs into his eye sockets. The keening man, I swear, seemed pacified by this gesture, even as the other man proceeded to manually rip out his lower jaw and shove it into the other man’s ragged throat.

They ripped out their own hair and others’, they ripped away their own clothing as if they were alien restraints, an affront to their animal dignity. Two of them were in coitus, tearing at each other’s throats the whole time. Blood saturated the carpet.

I sat transfixed by the scene before me. Whatever frequency had triggered their bestial transformation only served to make my skin crawl and my head throb. The conductor of this savage cacophony downed the last of his wine and wiped his mustache with his sleeve, wearing a perverse expression of disgusted amusement.

“The Song of The Mother,” he said to me, “turned upon the precursors of its own creators… these people have so weak a constitution, no strength of will… It’s pathetic, really.”

I had no idea what he meant, but his unfathomable words were a mast for me to cling to in this hurricane of madness. My fists were clenched so hard that my joints ached. I realized that I had been clutching his sweater. His arm was still around me. He idly caressed me as if we were a couple sitting on a park bench, as if we were admiring the fall colors. A man dragged himself toward us with waning strength as he bled out. He seemed unaware of his own state of being. He growled and reached out for my leg, only for my host to smash his boot into his face.

“You’ve seen enough. I’m taking you home.” He grabbed my half-empty tumbler, tossing the remaining wine at my would-be assailant with contempt before pocketing the glass with my prints on it.

He took my hand in his and we left through the back door. We ran hand-in-hand over crumbling parking lots and through the common greens of cheap apartments in disrepair. In spite of all I’d seen, the feeling of sprinting through the cool night air with him, the silence along our winding path, the burning of my lungs with every breath… all of my fear vanished for a few blessed minutes. He led me to a quiet subdivision where he’d parked his car—an old black sedan, nothing that stood out. He leaped over the hood, got inside, and started the engine. He opened the passenger door and, when I hesitated, this charismatic man gave me such a charming smile that would have melted my heart if not for the circumstances. No, I have to be honest with you. It worked completely. Like the crisp, misty autumn night, it was a welcome feeling after the senseless bloodbath I’d witnessed.

I heard his voice over the sound of the engine. “You don’t have to come with me. This glass will be washed and put away in my cabinet.” He held out his hand to me, and I took it. He was no longer wearing gloves.

It was the first time I’d felt his skin on mine. I trust that you understand the significance of this moment. Your mother was never one to bowdlerize the facts. I always respected that about her—honesty, but not brutal honesty. To put it in my words though, he had his grip on me forever since, and I never want him to let go of me. I cannot apologize for this, Sina. I would be lying to you if I did. I’ve lied to my family and to myself more than enough.

I don’t remember much of the car ride, except that I was shivering the whole time. He said something to me, something along the lines of “you'd be a fine test subject if you weren't so cute.” At a stoplight he slid his hand up my thigh and winked at me. The adrenaline, and the giddiness of our flight from that horror scene, it all but annihilated my senses. I was young and stupid, and he had my blood running, and the way he looked at me… You already know what I’m about to say, though. I fell for what would soon prove to be the most dangerous, most evil, and most brilliant man on the planet. Even then I knew that there was something very wrong with me for wanting this, but I didn’t care. I was as insensible as those poor test subjects.

His apartment was too nice and too spacious for an undergrad to afford, or any other student for that matter. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he removed our jackets and as we left a pile of hastily discarded clothes at the foot of his bed. Sometimes I wonder why, of all nights, it happened then. Maybe your mother is right; maybe I am a pervert. He was ravenous though, an irresistible force driven by the morbid success of that night’s experiment, and in that moment, I couldn’t even imagine turning him down.

I stayed there for two more nights, leaving once to gather my textbooks and notes (and a change of clothes, and some toiletries,) and another time to go to class. I did my homework and he worked on his thesis. Otherwise, when I wasn’t in his arms (and sometimes when I was) he spoke about his experiments, about the significance of his findings, of the implications and the potential. He told me in vague terms about his connections with certain organizations and departments, about being courted by various other governments. Not once did he mention his past or his family, and never did I ask, not even to this day. I was enrapt. His door was always open to me, my company always welcome, and I would do nothing to endanger that esteemed privilege.

He never had anyone else over, and there were no roommates to worry about. He assured me that the apartment below his was empty. My own roommates wondered if I’d ever come back, not to mention where I kept disappearing to this whole time. I didn’t care. He bought me wine and takeout, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and we talked at length about our respective studies. I don’t know if he only pretended that he was interested in what I was doing, but if so, he was a great actor. When he was gone for a weekend or so, I’d come over and keep the place spotless between classes and studying.

Inevitably, the time came for him to move on. He had his PhD, and he was off to another city, one that he said was revolting. He told me that our paths would cross again one day, and I wanted so much to believe him. It was just an empty thing that people said to each other, though. It was meaningless in the end, like children writing HAKAS in each other’s yearbooks.

I thought it was just a phase, just another chapter toward the end of adolescence. I eventually moved on with my life, met your mother in debate club, passed the bar exam, got married… We created you, my daughter, my wonderful daughter.

You were the sun in our solar system. Every little cry from you shattered my heart, and every laugh brightened the whole house. I wanted to hang every drawing you made on the walls. The walls themselves were a canvas for your tiny hands, much to my delight. Everything you said to me was profound and worth remembering, even before you learned how to speak. I wept openly at work when your mother sent me a video of your first steps. You had me wrapped around your finger before you even had fine motor skills. If I had absolutely nothing else in my life, I would be more than content just to raise you. I’m a hypocrite for saying that though. In the end I chose to leave my family behind. I chose not to be there for you.

But I had eight years of happiness with you and your mother, and the phase that took two years of my life was filed away with all the other college memories. I would have told you that I’m bi if you ever came out to me. I would have assured you that you were in good company and that your parents love you unconditionally.

It wasn’t just a phase, though. It was a cancer, and cancer doesn’t leave the body forever. It’s like the hand of God, and what God takes will never be given back. I think that the same can be said of Satan, especially if you throw yourself into his arms. New growths of this cancer spread, like small tumors across lung tissue—a passing mention of his name during coverage of a protest, a short article in the New York Times or The Economist...

I was apprehensive at first when I Googled him. I knew in the back of my mind that I could never close the floodgates again once I reopened them. I felt a fluttering inside me, the thrill of doing something forbidden in secret, and this pushed me over the edge. Every article, every newspaper clipping (all of it stashed in that “creepy” folder that your mother found in my filing cabinet,) all of it reignited the flame in my heart that ultimately seared it and engulfed all else. Little could be found in regard to his personal information, but I expected that. The doctor is a secretive person. He always has been. He knew before anyone else the dangers of social media, and the warped vision of the public eye.

I never should have resurrected that part of my life in the first place. It cost me everything else. It hurt so many people. Your mother probably told you by now about what happened next, about that “job opportunity” that left ten people dead and one in an iron lung for the rest of his life. I survived the internship, a Pyrrhic victory.

I wish that I could tell you that I tried to resist his overtures then. I wish I could tell you that I was conflicted, even that I merely hesitated. I didn’t though. I longed to be by his side again, even if only as a personal assistant, even if my only role was to bring him coffee. I needed to be with him again. The only real regret I have out of this whole ordeal is that I lost custody of you.

Hearing this is probably meaningless to you, even insulting. All of these words probably do more harm than good. The love that I have for my own daughter wasn’t enough to repress my slavish devotion to this man, to the very idea of him, to repress my desire to learn everything I can from and about him. I wasn’t just pulled into the undertow, but I swam willingly with the current.

There are people who try to justify the unconscionable things that they do. I don’t wish to be one of those people because I owe you at least that much—brutal honesty. I have no excuse for leaving you behind. I have no excuse for breaking your mother’s heart. There is no excuse for the deficiency of remorse that I feel. I hope that you never gain insight into why I’ve done what I’ve done, because that knowledge can only be gained in a betrayal such as the one which I’ve committed.

Forever in imperfect love,  
Dad


	4. The Tour ("Devil's Priest" by Inger Lorre)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awww, I'm sorry. Did you forget to read the fine print? Did someone forget to read the fine print? (Not you, just Emil)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone in the compound is a brain trust, and it turns out that some of them are awful people too. Shocking!
> 
> Anyway, where is my scathing criticism? Are any of you people going to say anything? Ah, whatever. I'll see you all in the next chapter.

Someone was carrying Emil, and they were struggling mightily to do so. Emil heard them talking, a histrionic response to a low, even tone. This person very nearly dropped him, eliciting more frantic yelling. Emil kept his eyes closed and his body lax. He didn’t want to be part of this circus. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Eventually he reached his destination and was clumsily lowered onto a bed. He opened his eyes in time to see his bearer walk around the corner at the foot of his bed. Rather, he saw the tail of his long wool coat. He heard him exchange some words with Agent Stone. He peered around the steel wall and saw him and Ivo whispering. They leaned close, and it was almost impossible to hear what they were saying. One of Agent Stone’s fists were clenched, while the other held Dozy. The cat mewled and Agent Stone lowered him to the ground gently. Dozy hopped onto the bed and took his rightful place on his person’s chest. Emil sighed and rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes as the sliding door whooshed shut.

Just when he thought he was alone, Ivo sat down at the foot of the bed.

“How long was I out?” Emil muttered. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. Maybe Ivo would take the hint and let him tend to his own headache.

“Oh, long enough.” Ivo’s voice was chipper and, as usual, just a touch too loud. He took the liberty of unlacing Emil’s sneakers for him. “So, this is your home now. Nothing too decadent, just a cozy studio apartment with work right outside your door!” He set aside the shoes and unzipped Emil’s jacket. “I can have you moved into something bigger, of course. It’s all up to you. No rent, no deposit, no horrible landlord to wring more and more money from their hard-working tenants…”

Wow, look who had a basic grasp of the working man’s plight. Emil opened his eyes and smirked, watching his old friend and wondering how many other layers of clothing he’d peel off of him before he was satisfied. His socks were the next thing to go, and now his belt.

“But ain’t you technically my landlord?”

Ivo yanked the last few inches of the belt loose and tossed it onto the floor. He paused to ruffle Emil’s hair. “Oh _Emil_, don’t think of it that way! My employees are like my housemates, and we’re all just splitting the rent and utilities.”

Emil raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? We got a tenant’s union here?”

Ivo stopped unbuttoning Emil’s shirt and drew nearer, leaning with one arm crossed over his friend’s body. His tone was lower, and markedly less cheerful, and his face was barely an inch from Emil’s. “Emil, we were just reunited. Let’s not ruin the moment with all this union nonsense.” He paused, and without taking his eyes off Emil’s he snatched the wrinkled contract copy from Emil’s shirt pocket. “Everything you signed—every agreement, every contract, every pre-filled form—is _mutually_ binding until one of us dies. You take care of me, and I’ll take _very good care of you._” Without breaking eye contact, he placed the copy back into Emil’s shirt pocket and patted it with an icy smile.

Emil’s face flushed. He didn’t know if he was being reassured, seduced, or intimidated. Any one of these was a turn-on, if Emil was being honest. The distance between their faces couldn’t really be called a distance. He bit the inside of his cheek and was suddenly hyper-aware of how hard he was breathing.

And then, as if there had been no such exchange, Ivo sat upright and laughed. “Oh, come on. This isn’t Amazon! I’m very easy to work with, even after all these years and after everything that’s happened. I’m still me. We still know each other. Oh! Do you like your room?”

Everything was made of metal and the fluorescent lights were too bright. Anything that wasn’t a built-in cabinet or shelf was covered in floor-to-ceiling metal plating. In the small bathroom in the opposite corner, Dozy was nestled into a utilitarian sink. There was a potted African violet on one of the shelves that Emil hadn’t noticed at first, and next to the desk was the what looked to be the world’s oldest, soggiest box filled halfway with cheap cat litter. It read CAT in large, unfriendly letters on one side and was shoved into a corner.

“I tried to make it feel homey and nostalgic—you know, for old time’s sake. I think I did a pretty good job.”

He'd added a Flokati rug to the floor, just like the one that had covered most of the hardwood floor in Ivo's childhood bedroom. That was about as homey a place like this could get, Emil guessed. He stood and opened the closet. All of his clothes were hung up, with the addition of a dark gray boiler suit. “No formalwear?”

Ivo was at his side and in his personal space immediately, not that there was too much space in the room to begin with. “Not yet. I hope that doesn’t upset you, but the work you’ll be doing for now doesn’t require you to wear a suit. You should try it on. You’ll look great in it.”

“Eh. I hate wearing suits anyway. You want me to try it on now? Okay.” Since he’d already lost so many clothes by now, Emil pulled his flannel over his head and dropped his pants. He took the boiler suit from the closet while glancing over his shoulder; the hungry look on Ivo’s face was exactly what he’d hoped for. He turned his head away with a smile and pulled the suit up over his legs and shoved his arms into his sleeves. “Nice! Heavy fabric, plenty of pockets…” he squatted and stood up again. “Good. It’s loose and I gotta good range of motion… Oh man, it’s got my name on it too!”

He buttoned up his boiler suit, but he didn’t get much further than chest-level before Ivo stopped him and hastily unbuttoned a few of them. “You don’t have to keep it buttoned all the way up, you silly thing! At least not on your downtime. If it needs any alterations just let me know.” He brushed the front of Emil’s suit and his undershirt off as if they were actually dusty, taking his sweet old time to do so, and then he stopped to trace the long, thin chain from which hung a Star of David. “How’s your family? Do they stay in touch with you?”

Emil smiled. “Yeah! My mom was a little pissed when I got my surgery, but she still took care of me after I got out of the hospital. I mean I had to move out after I recovered, but we’re on speaking terms now. My brothers didn’t care, neither did my sis. Dad’s been really supportive, but he’s a little confused about how it all works. Uncle Dan still goes hunting with me.” He looked up at Ivo. “By the way, do I get time off?”

Ivo gave him a chiding look. “If you’d just _read everything_ that you signed, you would see that yes, you have vacation and sick days. Oh, and by the way, I’ll come by tomorrow to bring you your employee handbook—you know, the one you acknowledged that you’ve received and read thoroughly? Consider that your first task. And before I forget, you’ll probably need this back.” He pulled Emil’s phone out of one of his coat’s inner pockets. “I recommend you acquire a new phone from—”

“Were you going through my phone?!” Emil snatched it back from Ivo and unlocked it, checking his apps and his texts. Everything appeared to be unread, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything…

Ivo held up his hands. “I was just looking out for you! You had it rolled up in that jacket of yours, and you know how these things can overheat—”

“Jesus, Ivo!” Emil sighed and pocketed his phone. He didn’t even know how to address this except to yell at his friend, and what good would that do? “Look. Stop snooping, okay? I don’t care if it’s in the fine print, it’s just creepy.”

“I would _never_ spy on you! I didn’t meddle, I didn’t use one of your fingers to unlock the phone, and I _certainly_ didn’t check to see what kind of social apps you’ve installed.” He sighed and gave him a weary look. “Emil, it’s as if the more I say, the less you believe me. You should know me better than that.” He pulled Emil into a tight, somewhat one-sided hug. “Come now, get some rest. I’ll be back later to show you around, alright?” He gave him a peck on the cheek and promptly left the room.

* * *

Emil didn’t spend as much time resting as he thought he would. He couldn’t sleep at all. The first thing he did was check to make sure that everything was in its place. His meds were in a little alcove in the wall next to his bed. He did a quick inventory of them, just to reassure himself—Prozac, Lamictal, Klonopin… it was all there, in the same dosages, with the exact number of pills he’d had last time he’d taken them. Then, he checked on his phone to see if African violets were toxic for cats.

“Well Dozy, at least he isn’t tryin’ to poison you.” He picked up his cat and cradled him under his chin, resting his eyes for a moment as his buddy purred loudly. He had a lot of texts to reply to, and more than a few missed phone calls. None of that seemed in the least bit appealing to him at that moment. He was groggy and overwhelmed. He needed caffeine and food, and he needed to find out if the movers had brought his car with them. God! Why hadn’t he thought to ask? Just what the fuck had he been thinking?

“I’ll be back, buddy.” He set his cat on the bed and brushed some of the cat hair from his clothes. He re-buttoned his boiler suit and put his socks back on before shoving his feet into his work boots. He was relieved to find that the door to his apartment wasn’t motion activated; he flipped the switches on the panel beside it until the door finally slid open.

He wandered the halls in search of a cafeteria or a break room. There was a mini fridge in his apartment, but no cooking implements. These people had to eat somewhere…

He finally spotted another human after a while and he waved to them. “Hey! Uhh, what’s your name? Can you tell me where—wait! Where are you…?”

His startled coworker had already slapped his badge against a well-disguised panel on the wall and scurried into the secret passage that appeared next to it, dragging their mop bucket with them.

And then he was alone again. “Oh… okay.” Emil scratched his head. Were the custodians supposed to stay out of sight? What kind of Victorian English bullshit was this? He frowned and shook his head as he kept walking. He’d really have to have a talk with Ivo later on. Either that, or some covert unionization was in order.

He soon heard a gentle whirring behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw what resembled a bulky Roomba. He stopped walking and the little robot stopped as well.

“You tailin’ me? Huh?” He smiled in spite of himself, talking to it the way he spoke to his cat. His desire to smash surveillance cameras, of which he’d seen many during his stroll, abated as he gazed at the little robot. It was small and it was cute, unlike those Wheatley-wannabe orbs that floated all over the place. Those were more menacing than endearing. He knelt down to take a closer look.

“Who’s keepin’ tabs on me, buddy? Start namin’ names!” He cooed.

On further examination, it was equipped with some kind of audio components and a small upturned camera lens. “Huh. Great. Ivo’s tryin’ to take upskirt shots now… Anyway, since we’re both going the same way, you wanna tell me where to get some grub around here?”

The little robot gave no response.

“No? C’mon, Alexa can probably do that shit—” The little robot extended a thin arm from the top of its body and gave Emil a light shock. “Ow! Jesus! Coulda done without that.”

With a heavy sigh, Emil stood and continued his expedition through the gargantuan compound. The residential area was long gone, and now doors were few and far between. Without a badge, he’d have no access to any of them. The lighting above didn’t seem to travel very far as it descended from the ceiling high above him. The floors were made of black tile; sneaking across them would be difficult in shoes, and completely useless given the amount of surveillance devices he’d seen. Then again, there were shadowy spaces everywhere, dark enough to avoid the attention of people, but probably not the drones…

Emil frowned, wondering why that would even occur to him. It wasn’t quite an intrusive thought, but it still made him uneasy.

The doors all had nameplates mounted next to him, but the names were numbers that didn’t mean much to him at the moment. He’d just passed 3-019. What was the prefix meant to represent the area he was in? Did it tell him what floor he was on? Was that even how the numbering system worked here? There were no maps on the walls, no directories, not even an evacuation plan.

There was, however, a man in a suit. He leaned against the wall, staring at Emil through narrowed, baggy eyes. His suit jacket hung a little loosely from his shoulders. His wrinkly shirt was white, and his black tie was loose. He took the cigarette that was dangling from his lips and ashed it onto the floor, grinding the ashes in with the sole of his shoe.

Emil’s traveling buddy sped past him and sucked up the ashes. Emil kept his eyes on the stranger. He wasn’t Agent Stone, that much was for sure. He was pallid and haggard, with a five o’clock shadow to accompany the dark circles under his eyes. His short, sandy hair was thin, and his nails were yellow. When he spoke, he did so with a thick Chicago accent that almost put Emil at ease.

“You Sobel?” The man asked.

“Yep.”

“You don’t got a badge yet.”

Emil crossed his arms. “Nope. Am I being detained?”

The man snorted. “Nope, just keepin’ tabs on you, makin’ sure you don’t run off. You ain’t no threat to us. Believe me, friend.”

“Run off? Why the hell would I do that? I just got here.”

“Yeah, and you don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” The stranger inhaled and blew a billowing cloud of smoke in Emil’s face. Emil tried not to give the bastard the satisfaction of watching him cough, and he failed miserably.

_No threats. No violence. You just got here, there’s no need to make enemies yet…_

The man thrust his hand out to him, and Emil shook it in a death grip. “Benny Pasternak. Oldest guy on the payroll. Been workin’ with the doc since before he moved this outfit outta Silicon Valley. Gettin’ away from those little trust-fund pricks was the best thing he’s ever done. Anyway, do your job right and we ain’t gonna have any problems. Got it?”

Emil sneered. “Fuck off. I can handle my business.” Day one and he was already in a pissing contest with one of his coworkers. If all of them were like this, it would be only a matter of time before he got called up to HR for workplace violence. No—it couldn’t end like that. He was here for Ivo, not to impress this stranger. “So what’s your deal? You the one stuffed farthest up Robotnik’s ass?”

Benny just laughed. “Nah, that’s Stone’s distinction. Besides, I don’t shit where I eat.” Emil’s heart sank at the implications. He tried to keep a straight face. Pasternak must have noticed. There was the twitch of an eyebrow, the slightest upturn of one corner of his thin lips, not necessarily a smile, and then it was gone. His tone neither hardened nor softened. “I heard about you, Sobel. Doctor wouldn’t shut up about you for months. Why it took him so long to snap you up though? That’s beyond me. Guess he wanted your little high school reunion to be all perfect, I dunno. Anyway, don’t fuck up. Otherwise we’re gonna fuck _you_ up. We don’t like liabilities too much around here.”

He put out his half-spent cigarette on the wall and tucked it behind his ear. He stood up straight and walked past Emil. He paused and spoke over his shoulder. “You’re headed in the right direction if you’re lookin’ for the cafeteria. They got booze in the conference room too. You just take whatever you want—no one gives a shit around here if we agents help ourselves. It’s toward the front of the building; it’s the only room around here that don’t look like all this Star Wars shit.”

Emil’s appetite was practically nonexistent now, but at his age he knew better than to drink on an empty stomach. He grabbed a bolillo roll from the cafeteria, cut it open, and slathered the inside with three packets of butter. He ate it on the way toward the conference room.

* * *

It was just him and the Roomba now. He was hunkered down behind the bar with a six-pack of shitty beer and a bag of pretzels. He nursed his second can and crumbled up another pretzel to feed to the little robot.

Someone walked around the counter and picked a bottle of wine from the rack above the shelves. Agent Stone poured himself a glass, studying Emil the whole time.

Emil stared back up at him with bleary eyes. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He was less than two cans in—buzzed, but just sober enough for him to rein in his more beastly impulses. What would be the point of fighting, anyway? It might feel good now to break this guy’s teeth or blacken his eye, but he’d been down that road too many times before. All it ever did was leave him with a busted lip, a concussion, and sometimes a night in the drunk tank. Besides, acting like a caveman wouldn’t exactly win him anyone’s heart.

Agent Stone didn’t say anything at first. There was no arrogance, no derision or pity in his features. He asked the question before Emil could: “Why did the doctor bring you here?”

“I dunno, somethin’ about me protecting him. How many thugs does he need around here?”

“We’re not all thugs. There’s legal work to be done, damage control, cybersecurity—things like that. The doctor is a busy man, so he’s hired us to take care of things for him.”

“Take care of things?”

“Yeah.” Agent Stone took a seat on the floor next to Emil. He brushed together a pile of pretzel crumbs that had been too big for the vacuum bot and crushed them with his fingers one-by-one as he spoke. “You’ve got Blackwater, Lockheed-Martin, Tesla, entities like that. People find out all kinds of things about them—information leaks, whistleblowers, disgruntled employees, all that shit. The personal lives of their CEOs? Not that hard to find out about them. They all have Wikipedia pages. That idiot Elon Musk has a twitter. He goes on radio shows and acts like a buffoon. You know what’s on the doctor’s Wikipedia page?”

Emil finished his second beer and took a break from them, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge beneath the counter. “Not much about his personal life,” he said.

“Right. The doctor loves to be the center of attention to some extent, which he is, but at the same time he doesn’t want people prying into his personal affairs. He doesn’t just own this company—he’s a one-man R&D team. If someone doesn’t keep their lips shut about what he does, or if some reporter somehow gets past his defenses—”

“Wait, how would that happen? They just climb a fence or something? Don’t you people have razor wire?”

Agent Stone sighed. It was obvious that he didn’t like being interrupted, which was reasonable, Emil supposed. “There are two fences, along with automatic gun turrets and surveillance cameras. We have drones patrolling the yard. We even have signs posted around the perimeter stating that trespassers will be shot on sight. Once in a while though, someone gets through somehow, and we have to deal with them the hard way.”

Emil was already half-finished with his water. “So, no guard towers? No people?”

Agent Stone cleared his throat. “The doctor designed this defense system himself.”

“But why don’t you tell him to just put a few people out there?”

Agent Stone looked at his new coworker, one inch of irritation away from rolling his eyes. “Do _you_ want to tell him that there are holes in his plans? That something _he_ made is flawed?” He looked away and took a sip of wine. “It’s not flawed, by the way. There are different kinds of fences, and there are a variety of skilled people who are paid a lot of money to make sure that everyone stays on the right side of those fences.” He took another sip and looked Emil up and down. “You don’t fit the mold. Last I checked, the doctor doesn’t need a school bus driver.”

Emil remained quiet while he tried to formulate a response that wasn’t too caustic. His jaw hurt. He realized that he’d had his jaws clenched for a little while now. Emil finished the water bottle and cracked open another Old Style, gulping some of it down. “Well Stone, looks like you’re stuck with me either way. So he really didn’t tell you why I’m here? How I fit into all his plans? ‘Cause if not then we’re both in the dark here.”

Agent Stone shook his head and downed the rest of his wine. He stood up, placed the wineglass on the counter, and offered Emil a hand. Emil took it in spite of himself. He resented the man, sure, but there wasn’t anything particularly unlikeable about him so far. Emil got the impression that he didn’t realize he was an actual, legitimate rival for Ivo’s affection. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe fucking his own boss was just a fringe benefit to him, and all of that was assuming that Pasternak wasn’t bullshitting him in the first place. He’d just gotten to the compound, Emil remembered. There was no reason to believe every bit of gossip he heard right now.

“Hey, uhh…” Emil scratched at his stubble. “Do you know where the living quarters are? I kinda got all turned around in here.”

Agent Stone chuckled. “But you still managed to find the beer. C’mon, I’ll show you. The place is labyrinthine on purpose. I’m sure you understand why.”

As soon as Emil opened the door, the two of them found themselves face-to-face with the doctor himself. “Emil! I was looking all over for you,” he scolded him. “I was going to show you around, remember?”

He shot a glance at Agent Stone, whose entire demeanor had changed. His eyes lit up, and his features softened as he gazed at his boss. The affection and adoration were unmistakable, at least to Emil. He’d almost never seen a grown man look at someone that way.

Ivo didn’t appear to notice or care. He clapped his hand on Agent Stone’s shoulder and laughed. “You can’t just steal away my newest employee, you know. He’s _mine,_ not yours.”

A terrible and spiteful idea struck Emil. He took a step closer to Agent Stone. “I dunno boss, I think I’m gonna like workin’ with him.” He winked at Ivo and slapped Agent Stone on the back, a gesture that the younger man hadn’t expected at all.

“Is that so?” Ivo’s poker face hadn’t improved much over the years. Typical for someone who probably got everything his way…

Emil was riding high on a wave of booze and envy. “Yeah! We were just talkin’ shop over by the bar. Looks like I’m gonna have my work cut out for me if I wanna measure up to a guy like him, right Stone?” he elbowed the poor man, whose face suddenly looked a little washed out. Emil blithely ignored his apparent discomfort and continued. “I know you’re probably busy or whatever, so how about _he_ gives me the fifty-cent tour? It’s gotta be pretty late by now, right? What time is it, anyway?” He could have checked his phone, and would have, but it occurred to him then that he hadn’t seen any clocks during his expedition, or anything much in the way of windows.

Agent Stone backed away, watching Emil and the doctor. By the looks of it, he didn’t seem to know which of his employees he wanted to throttle the most, and Emil wore the most unconvincing neutral face that Stone had ever seen in his life.

It was Robotnik, of course, who broke the silence. “I have your badge ready, and I’ll show you where they’ve parked your car.” He hooked his arm around Emil’s and whisked him away down the corridor. “We don’t need to keep Agent Stone distracted. I’m sure he has some paperwork or whatever it is he does, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for a response from him. “I have such sights to show you, Emil! I mean, I can’t show you _everything_ I’m working on right now, but I think you’ll be impressed…”

As Ivo went on and on, Emil glanced over his shoulder and gave Agent Stone an innocent shrug and a smile. Agent Stone was not amused.

* * *

This was the sincerest show of enthusiasm that Emil had seen in his friend since he showed up on his driveway. Ivo led him around, arm in arm, talking nonstop about the lack of ambition that made his competitors inferior, the concepts and prototypes that had garnered the attention of not only the US military, but those of other countries.

“I decided to work for our own country’s welfare of course—keeping our boys off the battlefield, or whatever they say to the unwashed masses. Then again, there’s still money to be made with other interested parties, right?” He winked and gave him an impish grin.

Emil kept took another gulp of his third can of beer, wishing that it was his fifth or sixth instead. He would, at the expense of vomiting in front of his boss, rather be in a drunken haze than be sober and contemplating the fact that his sweet Abelard was helping the government (or the highest bidder) to kill civilians with greater efficiency. It should have crossed his mind a lot sooner than this. He wasn’t a janitor or a welder, he wasn’t there to perform maintenance, and he sure as shit wasn’t here to drive a school bus. If anything that Agent Stone had told him was true, it was his job to keep the public from learning just what exactly was going on in these labs, and the depth of peril that the working men of the world were in.

Ivo insisted that advanced technical lasers had more potential than Boeing and the Airforce realized. “They were onto something, but the way they went about it was too costly and honestly, very primitive. And HELLADS? In my hands, that project could be used for interstellar warfare!” He paused and laughed weakly. “Assuming that there are any lifeforms capable of waging war on us humans on Earth, that is.”

Emil scratched his head, his eyes focused on some machinery that placed Ivo just out of his range of sight. “Well, Reagan would be proud.”

Ivo gave him a sideways glance, but for now, he decided to let the backhanded compliment slide. He pulled Emil a little closer and continued on, albeit a little less cheerfully.

Emil tried to enjoy the tour for what it was—Ivo showing off his life’s work. He was genuinely fascinated by a device that analyzed not only the shape and tread of a shoeprint, but the very impression of the foot that had been inside the shoe.

“With further development, this device will be able to detect handprints through the fabric of gloves in great detail—the disgusting, greasy fingerprints of whoever was at the crime scene. They’d have to keep their hands off of _everything_ to go undetected. They couldn’t even use the door on the way in or out!” He paused and studied Emil, who was starting to look a little pale. “I know what you’re thinking, but I want you to know that I haven’t presented this to _any_ law-enforcement agencies. I doubt I will. I’d hate for it to be used for any unsavory purposes.” He smiled, watching as Emil tried to calm himself down. “It’s like those ridiculous body cameras that policemen are asked to use while they’re on duty; they won’t make things any easier for whoever they decide to harass. You look sick, Emil. Do you need to lie down?”

“No, I’m good!” Emil smiled up at him. “I’m just trying to wrap my brain around all this stuff, y’know?”

Ivo put an arm around Emil’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. He tried his very best to suppress the vindictive nature of his smile. “Let’s move on. I’ll show you my pet project some other time. I’ve been working on it for decades now. Once I’m finished, ‘targeted individuals’ might actually have something _real_ to complain about for once.”

The last stop on the tour was Ivo’s bedroom. Ivo had been leading him all over the place for God knows how long and, under the pretense of showing Emil one of his collections, led him into a dark chamber which was far too large and far too dark to be comfortable for anyone who wasn’t a dramatic goth. There was even a canopy bed with heavy velvet curtains. It was the only traditional furnishing Emil had seen in the compound so far, aside from what was in the conference room. At least it wasn’t an overturned couch.

Emil almost felt embarrassed for him, but then it occurred to him that he was just projecting his own discomfort onto the décor. There was no real reason to be nervous—they’d been in each other’s bedrooms all the time when they were teenagers. They’d slept at each other’s houses, and they didn’t even need to sneak around behind their parents’ backs to do so. This felt alien though, and not because of the dimensions of the room itself. He felt like Ivo was leading him through a decrepit, abandoned farmhouse without any concern for where they stepped or who might find them. Yet they’d done that very thing as teenagers too. Maybe the thrill was dampened after all these years, or maybe it metastasized into the acute uneasiness of an adult confronted with mortality and unnecessary risks. Maybe the mood altogether had been dampened as reality sank in for him about what his beloved friend had been up to all these years. What else had changed about him?

Ivo had been talking nonstop since he opened the door, though Emil hadn’t tuned in at first. “I don’t spend much time in here. There’s so much to do! Why would I want to sleep when I could be working?”

Emil shrugged, following him toward what he presumed was a closet door. “I mean, you never slept more than two hours at a time long as I’ve known you. Hey, how long was that car ride, anyway? You probably didn’t sleep through the whole thing—”

Ivo paid no mind to his question and threw open the door. The motion-detecting lights were a sudden, harsh sensation to Emil’s eyes, and he barely had enough time to adjust to it before Ivo guided him further inside. The walls were lined with handguns, pump-action rifles, automatics and semi-automatics, a few pieces that probably weren’t legal to own, and an RPG launcher.

“Like them? They’re quaint and ineffective compared to what I’ve developed, but they’re so pretty to look at, aren’t they? I like to carry them around, to feel their weight, to think of the power and fear inspired by such simple devices…”

Emil examined the firearms, saying nothing. Since when had Ivo become a gun nut? True, it was an impressive collection, and they were kind of neat, but it was a weird thing to have on display in his bedroom of all places. Maybe his bedroom functioned as a panic room too.

He stopped, having spotted an old, worn rifle toward the bottom of the racks. It was an M1, just like…

Ivo stroked Emil’s hair as he stood by him, studying his behavior, the sudden change in his expression. In an instant all of Emil’s tension seemed to fade. “What’s so interesting about this one?”

“My grandpa had a gun like this.” He stooped down and ran his hand over the grain of the old, smooth wood. “He… he fought in World War II with this kind of gun. He killed Nazis with it. I dunno if he brought it back with him or if he got one just like it afterward, but…” He barely remembered his grandfather, who’d passed away when he was a kindergartener. Still, the legacy filled him with pride. “My uncle taught me to shoot with it. He still has it.” He stared at the rifle, wondering which side had used this particular piece, how many lives it had claimed. It couldn’t be a reproduction. It looked old and death-heavy, like the one in his uncle’s cabin.

Emil stood up straight, swaying a little from the sudden movement. “Is that a flamethrower over there?”

“Yes, Emil, it is.” Ivo gently turned Emil’s head and peered at his face, sifting through and analyzing whatever meaning lay in his expression. “You seem very attached to that particular rifle. I can find you one just like it if you want. You’ll need a new handgun too, since your old one was destroyed.”

“Wait, _what?!_” This snapped Emil out of his musings. “Are you serious? Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Because you don’t want a weapon that’s registered in your name,” Ivo explained, in his usual patronizing manner. “You want one that’s untraceable. That way, you won’t be implicated in any—”

“But… but it was really neat. It had pearl grips, and it had the Virgin Mary on it…”

“Emil, you’re not even Catholic.”

“So what?! It looked cool, and it was _my_ gun! If you’re gonna destroy my shit, can you at least let me know first? Jesus!”

Ivo closed his eyes and sighed, as if he was considering the irrational demands of a child. “I’m sorry. I’ll inform you next time.” He placed his hand on Emil’s arm and tried to look him in the eyes. “You’re not too angry at me, are you? I promise it won’t happen again.”

Emil crossed his arms and thought. The longer he was here, the more uncomfortable he was, and he couldn’t blame it all on the numerous surveillance devices. He wished he had another beer in hand, but then he remembered that there were better options for confronting problems than drinking and sleeping. His therapist reminded him of this often. He just had to find them somehow in this new, hostile territory. He also had to find a new therapist, by God…

“Ivo,” he looked up at him, visibly suspicious of him. “When I was walking down one of the halls, I saw a janitor.”

Ivo didn’t expect this non sequitur. He didn’t have anything to say except “oh?”

“I tried speaking to them but when they saw me, they jumped inside a doorway and closed it.”

“Well—”

“Are they supposed to stay out of sight or something? That seems kinda weird. Don’t you think it’s weird?” There was a slight edge to his voice, a hardening of his eyes, but the words were presented with a smile as if they were discussing the weather.

“No!” Ivo pursed his lips and took a deep breath, and then he gave a small laugh. “No no no. They’re allowed to go about their business, regardless of who’s in the same area as them. Most likely they fled because they didn’t see a badge on you. Now that you have one, they won’t be afraid.”

“But why would they be afraid in the first place?”

“It’s workplace safety! I see you’ll have to watch my presentation on what to do in the event of an armed invasion.” He paused, smiling weakly. “That wouldn’t happen, of course. I’ve taken many precautions to impede anyone who’s foolish enough to attempt to gain entry to my compound.”

“Oh yeah, Stone told me about all about that.” He stepped out of the gun room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Ivo wasn’t far behind.

“Did he?” His voice dripped with feigned sweetness. “Were the two of you talking about me? No wonder my ears were ringing.”

Emil wasn’t having any more of his breezy, dismissive tone that night. He perched himself on the side of the ridiculously large bed and crossed one leg over the other. “You came up a few times, yeah. We were both trying to figure out what my niche is in your outfit.”

The syrupy tone was already wearing away. “My ‘outfit’… ah. Good. I see that Agent Pasternak has gotten to you too.”

“Yeah. None of us could figure it out though! Why _do_ you need a bus driver around here? You said you want me to make you feel safe, but how? It sounds like you have all your bases covered.”

“Emil…” Ivo approached him and tried to put his arms around him. Emil held up a finger though, and he stopped just short of embracing him.

“Agent Stone doesn’t seem like a bad guy, does he? Kinda good-lookin’ too.”

Ivo narrowed his eyes. “I see…” He took a seat next to Emil on the bed, leaning back on his hands as he studied his old friend. “I won’t ask what you’ve heard or who you’ve heard it from. I already know.” He sighed and, with no interruption from Emil, he continued. “It really isn’t what you think it is, Emil. We do have a history, but that was a long time ago. It ended when I left for Silicon Valley, and as far as I knew, he’d gone on with his own life. After some time though, he sought me out. So many years had passed, but there he was.” Ivo sat up straight, legs crossed beneath himself, trying to gauge Emil’s reaction to what he was implying. “He sacrificed so much to be here, to work for me. Please don’t blame me for indulging him, Emil. He’s a broken man, and I’m all he has left in this world.”

Emil sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “He left his family or something, didn’t he?”

“What? No! I—”

“Oh my God, he did! You don’t even have to _be_ in someone’s home to wreck it! Jesus Christ…” Emil fell back on the bed and stared up at the canopy above him.

“You’re disappointed in me.”

“I mean, kinda? But I…” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “That’s also pretty impressive. But it’s still terrible! So he was a married man?”

“Yes, with a daughter.”

“Jesus, Ivo! Fuck!” He glared up at Ivo. “What the fuck, man?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that _he_ sought _me_ out!” Ivo reclined on his elbow, and for the first time in years he felt a little defensive about his actions. “By the time he was here his marriage was already in flames. His wife was in the process of divorcing him. She said that he was _obsessed with me._”

Emil sneered, half disgusted, half confused. “He was obsessed with you? Are you for real? Is this just you stroking your own—”

“It was brought up in court. He had an entire accordion file full of articles and anything else he could find out about me. _It was admissible evidence._ The poor man tried to represent himself in his own trial, too! I told him it was a bad idea, but it was already too late. He was unraveling before my eyes and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Wh…” Emil’s face was less of a sneer now and more of an expression of pained confusion. “What? I don’t…”

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. I wouldn’t ask Agent Stone about the incident though. It’s a delicate subject for him. I do appreciate his undying loyalty to me however, and so I reward him accordingly, and it keeps the both of us happy.”

“I guess that’s fair… I think.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “You’re still a homewrecker at the end of the day. You know that, right?”

“Emil,” Ivo scooted a little closer to his old friend and curled up on his side. “I never expected it to happen. I certainly didn’t _want_ it to happen either, but like I said, he’s thrown away everything just for me. What would you do in my position?”

“I dunno! I’d probably just… not socialize or have any relationships anymore! I already do that though… Jesus, I don’t know! So what are you two then?”

“An employee and an employer. It’s a professional relationship.”

“The hell it is.” Ivo only grinned in reply, and Emil wanted to hate him. He was shocked and more than a little upset, but not for the reasons he might have been a couple hours ago. This was some fucked-up, small-town, toxic workplace bullshit, only scaled up. How many other of his employees had he fucked? Did all the others drop everything just for him, like he was some kind of perverted Svengali?

Oh… that’s what he’d done to him as well, wasn’t it? Emil groaned and covered his eyes. At least he hadn’t any kids or partners to abandon. He’d only sold away his own life, after all.

Ivo nuzzled Emil’s fair, curly hair and whispered, “I know you must hate me now.” He kissed his ear, and kissed him along his jawline. “I never wanted it to be like this, you have to believe me…”

Emil sighed, disappointed in himself for not pushing him away. “I don’t hate you. It’s just… I dunno. I’m tired. I gotta get some sleep.” He sat up and got to his feet. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

Ivo sat up too. “Of course. I’ll take you back to your—”

“No thanks, it’s fine. I think I can find it by myself now.”

He wished to God that he could be a little more upset with Ivo, but he couldn’t. Was he jealous? Was he disgusted? Was he sad? Emil didn’t quite know what he was feeling yet or how to articulate it, but even so he didn’t want to see such a look of dejection on Ivo’s face. He never could stand it, not when they were kids and not now. Emil took Ivo’s face in his hands and kissed him gently between the eyes before pressing his forehead against his.

“I’ll see you in the morning, alright?” He left before Ivo could say anything else.


	5. The Visitation ("The Bronze" by Queens of the Stone Age)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are hurt, feelings are manipulated, the red specter of unionization once again casts its shadow over The Man...
> 
> Welcome once again to Sina, the OC of shadyaxolotl on tumblr. If anyone else wants their OCs involved in this wonderful trainwreck then drop me a line and we'll talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, another chapter with even more words than the other two chapters! If you make it to the end of this chapter, I'll emerge from your computer/phone/tablet screen and I'll congratulate you with a little smooch on the forehead. I'll tell you you're a great reader! Thing is, I'll be invisible the whole time, and you won't actually be able to feel my presence or hear me, but I'll have you know that will have still happened!
> 
> ... Please do not call the cops.

It was around six when Emil woke up to Dozy sitting on his chest and demanding food under pain of nose bites. He rummaged around in his drawers and cabinets and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the half-bag of cat food and his food and water dishes. He fed the cat, got into a pair of basketball shorts and a sweatshirt, and headed out in search of breakfast. He made his way to the cafeteria, and only got a little bit lost on the way there.

The cafeteria, as far as Emil knew, was the only room in the entire building that had windows—an entire wall was made of them, in fact. It was well-lit and looked like most other workplace cafeterias—white linoleum, drop tile ceiling, uncomfortable chairs around circular tables, with the occasional salt and pepper shakers placed in the middle of them. There were cases and fridges full of beverages and snacks, a basket of apples or bananas near the cash registers, and a counter with an unlit menu overhead. Presumably this was for when someone felt like eating some crummy fries or a sub-par stir fry. It felt out of place in a building where everything else was sleek and metallic and, for whatever reason, poorly lit. Emil got the impression that none of the other agents spent much time in here; he sure didn’t want to.

He stepped up to the counter and greeted a small, pallid man, who smiled nervously when Emil showed him his badge.

“Man, you look stressed,” Emil said. “Rough morning?”

“No! It’s fine. I was getting bored, that’s all. Now I finally have a customer! What would you like?”

“You guys make protein shakes?”

The guy looked like he’d been put on the spot. “I-I’m so sorry, sir! We don’t have… I mean we do! We have some bottles in the fridge over there! Let me just get you one—unless you want more than one!”

“‘Sir?’” Emil didn’t like being called sir. He looked scared, too… Then again maybe the kid just wanted to make a good impression. He sighed, wishing he could just stop assuming the worst. There were enough problems going on; he didn’t need to create new ones in his mind.

“Will there be anything else?” The kid was back with two bottles of Core Power. “I didn’t know which flavor you’d like, s-so—”

Emil gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s fine. No worries at all, my friend.” Emil scratched at his stubble again, thinking. “So I know we agents get to take what we want from here, but do you guys get free food? Discounts?”

“Yes! Of course we do! Is there anything else I can get you?”

Emil sighed and glanced at the beverages in the fridges. “I’m just gonna grab a couple Gatorades. You’ve been real helpful. Thanks.” He leaned on the counter and murmured, “You ever need anything I got your back, kid. Got it?”

The kitchen door opened and an older man in a hair and net beard ran out. “No no, we’re fine! Everything’s fine. Thank you, sir!”

Emil couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It was like _The Stepford Wives _except with breakfast burritos. He went back to the room and put one of the shakes and a few Gatorade bottles in the mini fridge. He sat on the side of his bed while he drank his breakfast. First, they hid from him, and now they were acting like hostages.

Fuck it. He needed to run.

* * *

He’d only been living in the compound for one day, and he already missed the outside world. He missed the sky and the earth, the breeze that carried the smell of wild grasses and running water and trees to him—all of the good things that lay beyond the confines of his new home. Where he was now, there was a plain, flat lawn of bluegrass. It was suitable for sitting in or running on, and Emil was more than happy to do the latter. He didn’t know what to expect outside the building, but this was a suitable change of scenery. The trees beyond the fences rustled as the chilly morning breeze passed through them.

The Klonopin did a lot to tamp down the emotional landscape that he’d been in last night, and now that he’d slept, now that he’d stretched and moved, he felt a little more clarity. What happened between Ivo and Stone was their business. He still had feelings for Ivo after all these years, but whether or not he returned those sentiments was probably up to debate. The more he thought about last night though, the more he remembered how Ivo couldn’t keep his paws off him. Hell, he’d started undressing him the moment they were alone.

Ivo probably wasn’t interested in a committed relationship either way. Agent Stone wasn’t an innocent party in all of this either. Ivo wasn’t Svengali. He didn’t mesmerize people into leaving their former lives just to suck his dick all damn day. He was just a man with a lot of power, a lot of pent-up energy, an ever-expanding sense of entitlement. Stone deliberately made the decision to leave his family. As far as Emil knew, no one was holding a gun to his head.

He didn’t stray too far from the building, but he did want to get a look at the defense system that Agent Stone had told him about. Sure enough, there were the double chain-link fences, one taller than the other, each adorned with coils of razor wire. More of those white drones drifted through the air lazily, almost behaving as if they were bored.

Emil saw enough to sate his curiosity. He gave the gun turret a wide berth and continued on his way.

The compound itself was a blocky concrete thing, almost entirely windowless. It was a halfhearted tribute to Brutalism if anything. The parking lot was underground, as he’d seen last night—a few employees’ cars, and of course, a fleet of black Suburbans sat within. There were portions of the expansive lawn that were fenced off here and there. They didn’t contain anything interesting—there were plates of metal nearly the size of a bungalow inside some of them, and patches of unremarkable turf inside others. All of them bore signs warning him not to approach them, so Emil jogged onward.

To Emil’s surprise, there was an outdoor break area with benches and tables. It was paved, too—not just a park bench near the back door of a warehouse. Even better were the lilac bushes that surrounded it. Their flowers had faded in the first days of June, he knew, but their very presence was comforting, and they made Emil look forward to the late spring. Besides all that, the area looked like it would be perfect for warm-ups. He only had to find out how to access it from inside. There was probably a door in the cafeteria.

As he continued his circuit, a man in a suit approached him. He came to a stop and walked toward him.

“The doctor’s been looking for you,” Agent Stone said.

“Oh shit… what time does work start? Am I late? I forgot to ask!”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Agent Stone reached up and touched his earpiece. “I’ve located your himbo, doctor. I’ll have to incapacitate him if he resists detainment.” He winced, and Emil could have sworn that he could hear the shouting from a yard away. “Y-yes, of course, I’ll let him know.” Agent Stone glanced at Emil. “The doctor insists that you finish your routine.” He turned and walked back to the compound.

Emil frowned and cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’m not a himbo!”

“Yes you are!” Stone shouted back.

“I’m too short to be a himbo! And I’m not dumb! Hey!” Emil sighed. “Fucker.”

* * *

Ivo was waiting in the hallway of the living quarters just outside Emil’s door, arms crossed and scowling. As his new hire approached him, however, his mood brightened.

Emil gave his boss a nervous smile. “I’m still allowed to go outside, right?”

Ivo laughed a little too loudly. “Of course you are! This isn’t a prison! I even allow my employees to leave the compound sometimes.” There was a long, awkward silence, which Ivo was eager to put an end to. “That was a joke. So long as you inform me and you’re not working, you’re free to leave—as long as you come back, of course.”

Emil shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that’s reasonable.”

“It _is_ reasonable. You really should review all of those documents that you’ve put your name to, you know. You should read the handbook too. I dropped by to hand-deliver it to you and, to my surprise, you weren’t here! You probably didn’t even take that awful _thing_ with you.” Ivo took a step toward him.

“You’re referring to my cat.” Emil said. He stepped back and leaned against the wall, hoping that Ivo would close the distance. He did his best to look relaxed, as opposed to being nervous and thirsty as hell.

Instead, Ivo removed one of his gloves and grabbed him by the wrist. He led Emil to the door to his own apartment, pressing his bare hand against the panel next to the door. As the door slid open, he brought the both of them inside and toward the desk.

“Ha… you, uhh… You have access to my bedroom!” Emil laughed weakly, pulling his wrist loose from Ivo’s grasp.

“Don’t worry, I have access to _every_ room in this compound. I mean, why wouldn’t I?” He chewed his lip, waiting for Emil to relax. This self-evidently was not reassuring though, so he continued. “It’s only for emergency purposes, of course. If someone is injured or gravely ill, then we need access to their location so that we’ll be able to assist them, and I’m more than ready to provide that. And just imagine what a tragedy it would be if someone tried to commit suicide and no one had any way of reaching them in time. I would need to intervene at once!”

Emil grimaced. “Do people try to kill themselves a lot here?”

“No! No.” Ivo laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re very inquisitive, aren’t you? I’ll tell you what.” He placed one hand on the small of Emil’s back and pointed out the paperback manual. It looked to be about three hundred pages, if Emil had to guess.

“If you finish reading this _entire_ handbook and you _still_ have questions, feel free to ask me and I’ll gladly explain everything to you.” He gave Emil a lop-sided grin and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’ll always make time for you.”

Emil sighed and wrapped his arms around Ivo. He had a feeling that things wouldn’t get any less complicated the more he learned—petty bullshit between underlings, the palpable tension of the custodians and the cafeteria workers, an employee manual the size of half a Dostoevsky novel, some kind of poorly-defined love triangle in the wings… There wasn’t a scrap of technical literature out there that could help him sort things out.

This embrace had gone on for quite a while. Emil cleared his throat, and in reply Ivo slowly rubbed his back. Ivo also happened to be smelling him, his mustache brushing against his ear with every warm breath.

“I saw your warmup routine. It was very thorough, though I think you could’ve taken a _little_ more time to stretch…”

Emil didn’t say a word. His body was just as hot now as it was when he’d first finished jogging.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Ivo whispered. “I just so happened to pass by a window while I was searching for you.”

Emil knew damned well that those drones were involved, but he said nothing. He leaned his head against Ivo’s and let him continue.

Ivo inhaled deeply, his hands just an inch or two short of grabbing Emil’s ass, and as he exhaled, he continued to stroke him. “I watched every minute of it, even when you were so _rudely_ _interrupted_,” he snarled.

Emil had been nuzzling him, but he paused. “Wait, so you didn’t send him to get me?”

“Of course not! But enough about him. You’re soaked in sweat and you’re radiating heat, and there’s this overwhelming _musk_ emanating from you _and I love it…_” He inhaled sharply again and moaned softly.

Even as he gently kissed him up and down his neck, Emil’s conscience nagged at him. Whatever was going on, whether Robotnik just wanted to fuck him, or whether he had some fool notion of picking things up where they left off when he left for college, Emil needed to hash things out with Stone first. They needed to reach an understanding, even if it involved fists and a lot of shouting.

In the meantime, Emil had to think of a way to defuse the situation at hand. He needed an immediate turn-off, a metaphorical cold shower…

“Ivo,” he pulled away just enough to stare up into his eyes. “I wanna see the plant.”

“The plant?”

“Yeah—the place where all your stuff gets assembled. The plant. Is it offshore or somethin’? And what state am I in, by the way? I still don’t know…”

Ivo let go of him and stepped away. The mood was immediately ruined for him. “Why would you—it’s—you can’t see the plant! Why would you want to, anyway? There’s nothing interesting there!”

“Aw, c’mon! I just want a guided tour is all. Not like I’m askin’ to go alone or anything, or talk to the employees individually, or ask questions about—”

“I know what you’re up to,” Ivo growled and jabbed a finger at him. His tone was louder and louder as he continued on. “You and all of your union talk… I know _exactly_ what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to happen! My workers absolutely_ do not need to be unionized!_”

Emil gave him an innocent smile as he kicked his sneakers off. “Hey, I didn’t say nothin’ about a union. That was all you.” He loved watching Ivo get all wound up like this. He almost regretted that the mood was dampened now. “I just wanna see how they go about mass-producing your creations, see how some of it gets automated… I happen to like assembly plants, see?”

“No, I do _not_ see, and I won’t hear another word of it!” All of his huffing and puffing stopped suddenly, and his baleful glare became a vindictive sneer. “Since you’re so eager to step out today, why don’t you do so while Agent Stone meets his offspring?”

“His what? I don’t—”

“Yes. You’d make an _excellent_ supervisor during this visitation of his, given your pitiable obsession with the welfare of strangers…”

“But I barely know him! Ain’t that kinda awkward? I’m not even a social worker!”

He gave Emil a sad smile, laced through and through with venom. “I know it might feel uncomfortable for you, given how little Agent Stone thinks of you. In fact,” Ivo leaned in, resting his arm against the wall above Emil. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he’s jealous of you for some strange reason. I hope that this doesn’t ruin his day. I’d _hate_ for anything to go wrong when he’s about to see his only child after a decade of estrangement, wouldn’t you? And just imagine! Agent Stone would never forgive you! I’m sure you don’t want to get on his bad side.” He stood up straight and patted Emil on the head. “I’ll give you an hour to freshen yourself up while I inform Agent Stone that you’ll be accompanying him.”

“He doesn’t even know yet?!”

Ivo simply laughed as he strode out of the apartment, leaving Emil to get ready for his worst workday to date.

“Fucker.”

* * *

Agent Stone was about as prepared for, and as pleased with, the change of plans as Emil was. His wife had insisted on a supervised meeting in a public space, but why did it have to involve the school bus driver too? His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he glared at Emil out the corner of his eye.

Emil scowled back at him. He was slouched in the passenger seat with his legs crossed on the dashboard and his shoes off. He was in street clothes today, and of course, he dressed like a child—skater shoes, a stupid Dokken shirt, and a faded hoodie that looked like it’d been left at a moth buffet all week.

It was insulting—hurtful, even—that the doctor would insist he take this man-child with him on what was one of the most important days in his life. It was bad enough that his ex-wife was going to be there. Why did this have to be a supervised visit in the first place? This was ridiculous! Sina was legally an adult and he’d never _dream_ of harming his baby girl, and anyway, what would this idiot do in the event of an emergency? Throw beer bottles? Chairs? That degenerate, knuckle-dragging lowlife—

“This sucks.” Emil said, derailing Agent Stone’s train of thought. He was inclined to agree with him, but he absolutely refused to join him in second-guessing Dr Robotnik.

“The doctor has his reasons,” was his curt reply.

“The hell he does! He’s just getting back at me.”

Agent Stone almost took his eyes off the road. He realized that he was going five miles over the speed limit and slowed down. “What do you mean he’s getting back at you? What did you do to him? What did you say?”

“I just asked if I could see where all his shit gets made.” Emil shrugged and took another gulp of his protein shake—his second for the day, apparently. If this little meathead didn’t spill it or splash it around all over the upholstery it would be nothing short of a miracle.

“You what?”

“I wanted to see the plant.” He downed the rest of the shake and belched. His eyes were on Agent Stone the whole time as he screwed the cap back on and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. “I don’t know why he got all bent outta shape! I just wanted him to show me around.”

“You must have said something to upset him! It was probably the way you worded it! You can’t just say whatever you want to him, even if he went to the same school as you.”

“Well of course I can’t! That’s just not how you treat folks in general, right?”

Agent Stone didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. Emil was being willfully obtuse and he knew it, and he knew that _he_ knew it too.

Finally, they pulled into the parking lot. Agent Stone found a parking space that could accommodate a cumbersome Suburban and turned off the engine.

“Panera, huh?” Emil shoved his feet back into his shoes. “Guess it’s a step up from Denny’s for sad dads.”

Agent Stone leaned across the console and grabbed Emil by the collar of his shirt. Emil was a little surprised by his strength.

“Shut up. Just _shut! Up!_ You are _not_ going to ruin this for me! If anything goes wrong, _anything at all_, you’ll be held responsible, do you hear me? If this goes anything _less_ than perfect, then once the doctor gets over his little fit of nostalgia, I swear to God I will make you disappear—oh no… No…”

Something had caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He let go of Emil and straightened his tie. His rage turned into meekness in the blink of an eye. His ex-wife was waiting outside her car, dressed in a bold turquoise skirt suit and looking as majestic and as beautiful as she did on the day that she and her attorney tore up his dignity and ground the pieces into the dirt. She was statuesque and she held her head high, the pillar of strength and grace that she was, and her dark skin practically glowed. A decade had passed, and the two of them were older now, but she seemed to have borne it better than him. He felt a tug at his heartstrings, watching the sunshine reflected on the lenses of her sunglasses, and the flutter of her silk scarf in the summer breeze, the gentle wave of her thick black hair… She was a model from an oil painting in motion, and the more he looked at her, the wider that seam of regret in his heart was torn.

Emil watched him for a moment before unbuckling himself and hopping out of the car. Agent Stone was by his side, suddenly in need of his support. He shyly approached his ex-wife, who greeted him with a slap across the face. He winced, and then the two of them hugged each other. Emil suddenly wondered if he’d forgotten anything back in the car, but before he could scurry away the woman extended her hand to him, and he shook it with a sheepish grin.

“Marisol Contreras,” she said, smiling as if she hadn’t smacked the shit out of a grown man and reduced him to a worm all but a few seconds ago. Agent Stone had a type, apparently.

The door on the passenger side of the car opened, and out stepped a girl. She had the same dark olive skin as her mother, doe-like eyes not unlike her father’s, and long hair dyed red. She saw Agent Stone, and as she threw her arms around him she laughed, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Agent Stone was already weeping, overwhelmed by a decade’s worth of repressed emotions. She was almost as tall as he was, and the two of them held each other tightly as if to catch up on an entire decade of hugs.

“I’m so sorry, Sina… I’m so sorry…”

Emil bit his lip and averted his eyes from this outburst of emotions as he shook Marisol’s hand. “Uhh… Emil Sobel. Uhh, I’m one of his… his coworkers…” He half-expected her to strike him as well, but when she didn’t, he offered her his arm. “Wanna go inside? Lunch’s on me.”

Marisol smirked and held up her left hand, upon which was a glistening wedding ring. “Are all of Robotnik’s lackeys homewreckers like him?” Emil’s cheeks reddened and his eyes went wide. She just laughed and took his arm, leading them toward the entrance. “Don’t worry. I heard that my ex-husband hates your guts, so I like you already. You can call me Mari.”

“Mari. Sounds good!” He grinned and opened the door for her. “Can’t believe… well, I mean…”

“You mean what?”

“You’re _gorgeous_. I expected it, I mean! You’re beautiful and you’re… you just radiate power. I know I just met you n’ all that, but I don’t understand…”

No elaboration was needed. Mari glanced over her shoulder with a sigh and watched as her ex-husband held their daughter’s hand on the way to the door. “I don’t understand either, Emil. Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Soon they were seated in a booth near Agent Stone and Sina, Mari with her soup and sandwich, and Emil with a Greek salad and a brownie. They both watched Stone and his daughter, who were still waiting for their order. She seemed animated and happy, and Emil could tell by the look on his coworker’s face that he was captivated. It was just him and his baby, his one and only daughter. The rest of the world may as well have not existed.

“So…” Emil jabbed at a spongy, flavorless tomato as he tried to make small talk. “I was a school bus driver in my past life. It’s been two days and I still have no idea what the boss wants from me so far, except for reading a three-hundred-page employee manual. What about you? What do you do for a living?”

Mari had already eaten most of her sandwich. “I’m a professor. I teach political science, and when I’m not teaching, I’m dissecting our nation’s historical narrative and its use as a weapon against… well, never mind.”

“No wait, go on!” Emil finished chewing a mouthful of lettuce leaves and wiped his mouth. “I wanna hear the rest.”

Mari raised an eyebrow. “Do you? It’s nothing new in academia, but the public could use a new book or two about systematic racism every so often. My work is well-read, but not necessarily by the people who _need_ to read it.” She sighed. “Sometimes it feels like I’m banging my head against the wall. I’m not even preaching to the choir anymore… Do you consider yourself to be a man of principle, Emil?”

“Well, I think so. I mean, I know what you’re talking about, at least. I studied history in college, and I try to keep up with current events n’ all, so I think I understand what you’re talking about.” Agent Stone definitely had a type—an intelligent, fearless, unstoppable force. Apparently his type’s moral compass wasn’t a concern, however.

“A scholar and a school bus driver.” She paused, dipping her bread into her soup and taking a bite. She chewed as she thought. “Did you leave anyone behind to work for the doctor?”

“Me? Nah, just a trailer.”

“Do you think you’d leave your wife and child behind if you had them?”

“I don’t think so, no. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I did that…” There was the tiniest grain of doubt in him though, now that she’d asked. He lowered his eyes and concentrated on scraping up a crumb of feta cheese onto his fork.

“I never thought he’d do that. I never thought he’d leave me, especially for someone like Robotnik.” She watched her ex and Sina as she spoke. “I used to tell myself that it was a mental illness, a breakdown. I thought that he was delusional. How else could I explain why he’d left us behind and alienated himself from his whole family for a man like him…” She laughed bitterly, choking up. She took a long sip of her iced tea while she fought back the lump in her throat.

“I heard he tried to represent himself in court.”

“Exactly! What else was I supposed to think? He isn’t crazy, though. He kept a folder stuffed with articles and the occasional picture of him, but that’s just how he is. He did that with every letter and card I’d ever sent him, with every drawing that Sina made. His selfishness isn’t immediately obvious; it’s small compared to his sentimentality, and one might almost forgive him because of that. What I still don’t understand, Emil, is why he chose such a vile man, someone with so much blood on his hands.”

Emil sighed. “I’m not sure myself. I went to high school with him, y’know? Decades passed, and then less than a week ago he showed up at my door with a job offer. I thought he’d forgotten all about me, honestly. He really is different. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but he’s not the same guy I knew.” He set down his fork and reached for his coffee. “I don’t even know what he wants me for. He’s already got all his bases covered, and I’m just another old man.”

The two of them fell silent. The lunchtime rush was over, and they could hear the conversation between Sina and Agent Stone a little better now. They were talking about her plans for college. She was going to Berkeley. She wanted to become a psychologist and work with mentally ill criminals. She wanted to encourage rehabilitation as a replacement for incarceration for people with drug offenses. She seemed like a good kid with a lot of good ideas—ideas that were way ahead of their time perhaps, but good ideas none the less. Then again, if she was even half as formidable as her mother, she might actually make a difference in the world with the help of others.

Agent Stone couldn’t give his daughter enough encouragement and praise. She could have told him that she was going to be a pig farmer and Emil was sure he’d still be proud. He squeezed her hand, and when she asked about work he glanced back at Emil before trying to explain his role in his boss’s plans. He might have imagined it, but it sounded to Emil as if he’d called himself the doctor’s personal assistant. Emil and Mari exchanged looks.

“What a jackass,” Emil muttered. He saw a dark figure in his peripherals, and he tensed. “What the fuck’s _he_ doing here?”

“What? Are you serious?!” Mari turned in her seat, watching as the man himself entered the building. Emil jumped up and grabbed Ivo, putting a hand over his mouth. No one behind the counter seemed compelled to do anything except watch this scene with dull surprise and, thankfully, neither Agent Stone nor Sina appeared to have noticed him yet, lost as they were in their own little world. Emil and Mari, each of them a head shorter than him, strong-armed Ivo into the booth. Emil sat down, blocking him in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Emil hissed.

“I could ask you the same!” Ivo hissed back, a little louder.

“So! That’s the one he left me for?” Mari spoke to Emil as if Ivo wasn’t there. “What does he think he is? A vampire? Take those damned glasses off and look me in the eyes, you bastard!” She reached over the table and snatched the pince-nez right off of Ivo’s nose. Ivo was too shocked by her audacity to do anything about it.

The more time he spent around her, the more Emil liked this woman. He was almost glad that he’d gotten this assignment. “She’s right, boss. You’re still pretty goth. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

“Of course not!” Mari said with a chilling smile. “A grown man is entitled to dress like a school shooter.”

Ivo was as overwhelmed as he was irate. He opened his mouth, only to be cut short by Mari.

“You’re one of the murderers who aid our government in their endless profit wars, aren’t you? What a _pleasure_ to finally meet you! I don’t remember seeing you in the courtroom, though. It’s a shame you weren’t there to support your little sweetheart.”

“Wait, you weren’t there?” Emil looked at him, genuinely surprised.

Ivo gritted his teeth and locked eyes with Mari as they tried to outdo each other’s evil eye. “It didn’t seem appropriate,” he growled. “_I didn’t expect you to take this woman’s side, Emil._”

“Huh? I ain’t takin’ sides here! We were just talkin’ is all. You didn’t say nothin’ about me talkin’.”

“Then I should have been more specific!”

“Robotnik,” Mari said, “if you were going to show up and ruin everything by yourself, then why did you bother sending this charming agent of yours? I almost thought that this would be a civilized meeting.”

“I didn’t—It has nothing to do with your daughter _or_ your wretched ex-husband! I’m only here to discuss something with Agent Sobel.”

“Why didn’t you just call me then?”

“Because I didn’t want to!”

Sina glanced over her shoulder at the argument being had at big kid table and frowned. Agent Stone saw what she was staring at, and he suddenly looked like he wanted to shrink down into nothing.

Mari stared daggers at Robotnik as she spoke. “Emil, dear, let me have your phone number. We should keep in touch.”

“Why? You two don’t know each other! Emil, don’t—”

Emil had already written his number on a napkin, however, and he handed it to her with a shy smile. “No problem. It was nice meeting you, Mari. So, do you think you got this situation under control?”

“Yes. I think things will be fine from here on, provided you take the doctor with you on your way out. It was a pleasure, Emil.”

Emil stepped out of the booth and grinned at Ivo. “C’mon, boss. You want a brownie? I don’t really want it; you can have it. Let’s get outta here.”

It was much easier extracting the doctor from the building than Emil thought it’d be. He bought a two bottles of juice before leaving, handing one to Ivo. The doctor took it without complaint and followed him out of the restaurant without making a scene.

Mari watched them, wondering whether Emil had something on the doctor or whether the doctor had something unpleasant in mind for him. She frowned and sent him a short text; if she was his only line to the outside world, it would be on her to check on him. And if he turned up dead, God forbid, she’d make sure that the country knew exactly who to blame.

With a sigh, she pulled out a slim laptop and checked her messages while her ex and Sina wrapped things up.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“What do you mean, sweetie?”

Sina bit her lip. “I didn’t show your letter to anyone, but I’m really worried about you, Dad.”

He set down his fork and clasped his hands, resting his elbows on the table. He stared down at his bowl of pasta and thought.

“Dad?” Sina reached out and touched his arm. Almost as if their hands were magnetized, he grabbed her hand gently and smiled.

“You don’t need to worry. Not a lot of people understand him, but I’ve been working with the doctor for years now. I’m as safe now as I was on the night I met him.” This did anything but reassure his daughter, and it showed. “Sweetheart, I know that what I did was wrong. I missed you every day of my life since your mother filed that restraining order. It was selfish of me. I should have been there for you. I just wished that it hadn’t all happened the way that it did. Why she decided to—never mind. I can’t go back and change things, and neither can your mother.”

None of that had anything to do with what Sina was worried about. She picked at her salad and sighed. Pointing things out probably wouldn’t help the situation. She still had to ask, though. “He’s so much older than you.”

“I know, but that doesn’t matter so much when you’re my age.”

“Would you let me date someone ten years older than me? Or eight?”

“Sina…”

“I’m just saying! I’m worried about you. I wanna make sure you’re safe, that’s all.”

Stone put out his hand, palm facing up, and his daughter took it. He rubbed her hand with his thumb, thinking of how tiny it’d been when they made a plaster cast of her first handprints. “Sina, your father can take care of himself. I’m a little smarter than you think, even if—well, I mean,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I was thinking during the custody battle. I thought I could take care of things all by myself, and that was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I’m different now, though! I…” He grimaced, trying to hide his disdain and to swallow his pride. “I have Emil to watch my back, and there’s a bunch of other people like me who work for the doctor. We watch out for each other. Besides, he—”

She raised an eyebrow and stared him in the eye. She didn’t just look like her mother, but she’d picked up her expressions… “I thought you hate that guy, Dad.”

He laughed nervously. “Well, we… we’re working things out, that’s all. He’s an old friend of the doctor’s too!”

“So he was his boyfriend too? No wonder you guys fight!”

Agent Stone cleared his throat. “It’s not like that anymore. We just work for him—I'ts a professional relationship. Anyway, um, are _you_ seeing anyone? Any boyfriends? Girlfriends?”

* * *

“So… why _did_ you show up? Boss?”

Ivo had been disturbingly silent during the car ride. In fact, the ride from Panera seemed a lot longer than the drive to it, and nothing looked familiar. They were on a gravel one-lane road by the time Emil had dared to speak, traveling further and further up a mountain, into the mist and above it, over an endless landscape of pines and hilltops.

The winding road was at the edge of a very steep precipice, one that, Emil thought, would be perfect for anyone who needed to dump a body.

Still, Ivo said nothing. He kept his eyes on the road. This did absolutely nothing to assure Emil, or to stop the contents of his stomach from churning. Even worse was the presence of one of those goddamned orbs, the malevolent third eye of a man whose pineal gland had probably calcified twenty years ago.

Emil sighed and glanced at his phone. Zero bars, no 4G, no 3G, no nothing. The last text he’d received was from Mari, a simple “Hi! :)” He glanced nervously at Ivo before he added her to his contacts.

Of course he was pissed that he’d gotten along with Stone’s ex. He should’ve seen that coming. He was sent there as a punishment, to be miserable alongside another miserable little man, and here he’d ruined it by making the most of an awkward situation. But if he’d botched the whole thing? He might suddenly die from a compromised bottle of Gatorade, or from a bullet to the head, or whatever Agent Stone’s favorite means of disposal was.

Finally, they stopped in a tiny gravel parking area. There was a sign by the trail’s beginning, and they were close enough to it for Emil to see a missing person sign next to the trail map. He felt colder than ever, and he clutched his arms and tried not to shiver as Ivo parked the car. He tried to imagine what the worst-case scenario would be, and how it would realistically affect him. After a moment’s reflection Emil concluded that he actually did have a lot to worry about.

Emil waited for what seemed like an eternity for Ivo to say anything, anything at all. Just as he was about to strike up a conversation himself, however, Ivo held up a hand. He removed his gloves and, after a tense second, snatched the brownie from Emil’s lap, unwrapped it, and bit into it.

“Not bad,” he said, taking another bite. Once he swallowed he added, “you always know just which buttons to push, don’t you?”

Emil kept his eyes on the tiny hole on the tip of one of his Vans. “That’s true, I guess.”

“It is, Emil. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said it.” The brownie was half-gone now. He offered a piece to Emil, who accepted it timidly. He ate the rest and, after licking his fingers and wiping them off with a tissue, put his gloves back on. He turned in his seat to face Emil. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

“To get rid of me?” Emil ventured.

The expression on Ivo’s face was difficult for Emil to interpret. He may have been offended, or simply taken off-guard by the idea.

“No? To yell at me then?”

“No. I could have done that at home. I could have done that while driving. Do you know what I chose to do instead?”

Emil had finally stuffed the piece of brownie into his mouth. He shook his head, choking it down though his throat was dry.

“Of course you don’t. I did what I do best, Emil—I thought about things during our drive. I analyzed the situation I’d happened upon in that miserable bread-palace, and our interaction this morning, and your bizarre request. Do you know the conclusion I’ve arrived at, Emil?”

“Not really. Probably something bad.”

His tone was a potent mixture of seething rage and condescension. “You’re right. It _is_ something bad. Ever since you arrived at my compound, at your _new home_, you’ve had your defenses up at all times. It’s in your movements, your expression, the way you speak to people—the way that you speak to _me._ Do you understand what I’m saying, Emil?”

Emil felt smaller and smaller the further Ivo went on. “I guess I didn’t make a very good impression with—”

Ivo waved his hand dismissively. “No. Forget about the others. Let them think what they want for now.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “Out of the car, Emil.”

Emil climbed out and shut the door, gazing through the windows at Ivo. Very soon he found himself face to face with him, backing away and pressing himself against the car as Ivo invaded his personal space and as he was engulfed by his presence.

Ivo slammed his hands against the car door on either side of his head. Emil did everything in his power to shift his flight-or-fight instincts into the more confrontational channel. The corners of his lips pulled back, like a dog ready to show its fangs. There was nowhere for him to run; he didn’t know these forests; he didn’t know how to find his way to safety… Another one of those intrusive thoughts. Emil understood now where they’d been coming from.

“Do you not trust me anymore? _Are you afraid of me, Emil?_”

“Should I be afraid?” From the corner of his eye he saw the white drone drift toward the edge of the forest. Ivo grabbed him by the chin and turned his head so that he was looking at him.

“_Answer me._”

Emil glared into his eyes, with fists clenched partly to prevent the shaking, partly because he might need to use them. “One on one? I ain’t afraid of you. I can kick your ass and you know it. I don’t trust you far as I can throw you though. I feel like I’m in enemy territory. I don’t even know which state I’m in! I’m starting to feel like the prisoner of an arms dealer! What do you think about that?” Ivo said nothing at first. His expression was one approaching shock. This time Emil was the one to fill the silence. “_Should_ I be afraid of you, Ivo? Is that why you brought me out here? Just to uproot me and fuck with my head? I don’t care if it’s in your fucking contract—I’m not gonna put up with your head-games! You really ain’t the same guy I knew, are you? It’s not like old times, you’ve made that pretty clear. You’re a completely different person now. The only person who works for you who isn't afraid for their life is Stone, and far as I've seen it's either because he's so far up your ass he can't see the light of day, or 'cause he's an idiot! Everyone else I've encountered looks like they're on the brink of getting shot between the eyes. They act like they’re working for a fucking tyrant. You think I'm too stupid to notice? It's about workplace safety, but not the kind _you_ were talkin’ about! I moved out here, to God knows where, thinkin’ I was gonna help you feel safe, remember? I'm just about done with this horseshit!”

Ivo sighed and bowed his head. His shoulders slumped. He didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on for a while, punctuated by the calls of woodpeckers and finches. Finally, when he did speak, it was the softest, the most humble tone that Emil has ever heard from him.

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” He whispered. “I shouldn’t have done this to you. It was too much. You were happy where you were, and now I’ve stripped you of your home and your neighbors, your job, everything you’d built for yourself…”

Emil scowled, already sensing a shift in the playing field. “Huh? Now wait a minute! Don’t—”

“What have I done to you? My dear, sweet friend, my Heloise… You’re right! I really did change for the worse.” Ivo looked up at him, and Emil’s fear and anger waned. He looked so defeated. He looked so tired. “I thought I could make things better by bringing you to the compound. I thought things would finally return to normal, but all I did was destroy any chance of rebuilding our relationship…”

This sent Emil for a loop. His anger turned to confusion and excitement as his addled brain tried to sort out and articulate his emotions. “Ivo, don’t be like that! C’mon.” He clumsily tried to pull Ivo closer to him. “It’s fine,” he whispered, “it’s all gonna be fine. It’s just my nerves, alright? I’m in a completely different environment here. I don’t have a goddamn clue what I’m doin’ in the first place… And we _both_ changed, right? It’s not just you!” Ivo had looked away again, but Emil cupped his face in his hands. “I’m sorry about manhandling you earlier. I just wanted to make sure I did a good job at keepin’ things civil… I just wanted Agent Stone’s visit to go well, y’know?”

This seemed to be all that Ivo needed to hear. He held Emil tightly as he stood up straight, nearly lifting him off the ground. He covered him in kisses and sighed as he buried his face in Emil’s neck. “I didn’t bring you here just to lose you, Emil,” he murmured. “You know that, right? Please Emil, _please_ don’t be afraid of me. I’m not like that! I’m not the kind of person that woman thinks I am. I’m still me! I feel the same way about you that I did all those years ago, and I would _never_ hurt you.”

The rush of emotions and vulnerability overwhelmed Emil, and this confession sent him completely into shock. All he could do now is rub his back and shush him. “I still care about you too. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Ivo. I won’t ever leave you. I promise.” He kissed his ear and gently pulled himself free, only to be pulled into another rib-cracking embrace. “Okay, it’ll be okay. Why’d you drive me all the way up here, though?”

“Well, I brought you here because I needed to tell you something, _and_ because I know how much you love nature. Trees, rocks, disease vectors, indifferent or hostile fauna—everything you truly love is out here. See? We even have a map over there. You’re in Washington, by the way—the state of course, not that _other_ place.”

He guided Emil by the hand to look at the trail map, pinned behind a warped, discolored sheet of plastic. Emil scratched his beard and turned around, searching the parking area.

“Hey, where’s that drone? You always bring those with you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? They’re my eyes and ears, and they’re also a deadly weapon should the need arise—not that I’d harm any civilians, of course!” Emil furrowed his brow and looked up at him. “I wouldn’t harm them, I promise! I may be part of the military-industrial complex, but that doesn’t mean that I’d ever _murder_ someone…”

Emil absolutely did not want to get into that subject with Ivo right then. He simply nodded before heading for the woods. “Let’s see what’s in here.”

Ivo was still standing by the trail map. “Must we?”

“I mean, we drove all the way up here, right? C’mon. Hope that drone can deal with bears. Not that we’ll just walk into one of them… Well, we might surprise one by accident, but usually they’d rather just avoid us… Well, unless it’s a juvenile male, or unless it’s sick or starving, or it’s a bear with cubs…”

Ivo walked closer and closer with Emil the more he went on about possible bear attack causes. He already regretted his decision to bring him here, but he marched on without complaining, much to Emil’s surprise.

It didn’t take Emil very long to stray from the trail. He’d spotted something bright against a fallen branch. “Check that out! What kinda fungus is that?”

It was a bold mass of yellow wrinkles, and there were others like it all along the fresh-fallen branch. Ivo stared at it, wondering if Emil expected a reaction from him.

Emil knelt down and gently grazed it with his fingers. “Witches butter. Pretty cool, huh? Most of the mushrooms out by where I lived were just white or brown. You had to look real hard to find the colorful stuff.”

“But it stands out.”

“Yeah, but this kind’s edible so there’s probably some deer or whatever eating it, y’know?”

“Hm…” Ivo stooped over him and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. He opened his mouth to say something, but Emil was already up and picking his way over branches and through the underbrush. “Where are you going?”

“C’mere! I think I found—holy shit! Look!”

There was something about the excitement in Emil’s voice that made him hesitate, but Ivo followed him none the less. This did start to feel familiar, and he smiled to himself until he saw what Emil had found.

“It’s almost completely meatless now…” Emil stood over a deer carcass, its ribcage mostly intact and its legs on or around the corpse. As he said, the meat and innards had been stripped away, save for a few scraps on the creature’s eyeless skull. Ivo grimaced, taking a step back. He batted away in vain at the swarm of gnats in the air above the death scene.

“Look—the skull wasn’t broken open. Ain’t that weird?” He knelt down, looking for traces of bitemarks. “Whatever killed her wasn’t strong enough to break the skull… Shame. There’s plenty of calories in there. Whoever caught this deer probably needs them, especially if they have to hunt all their food.” He scratched his beard, thinking to himself. He seemed completely oblivious to Ivo’s disgust. “Then again, maybe it died of disease, or maybe it bled out while it was being chased…”

Ivo cleared his throat. “We should get back on the trail, Emil.”

“Okay. You alright?” He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his knees.

“I’m fine! I’d rather not get lost out here, that’s all.” He took Emil by the hand and returned to the thin, unpaved path. More of that yellow fungus was feeding off of a half-dead branch further up the trail, and once again, just as soon as he’d reined him in, Ivo almost lost track of Emil. “What are you doing now? Emil, don’t eat things from the bushes! You’re not an animal!”

“Aw, c’mon!” Emil grinned and shoved another blackberry into his mouth. “You gotta try these! Watch out though, sometimes daddy long-legs’ll hide under the leaves. They don’t bite, though.”

Ivo sighed. “Could you at least bring them home and wash them first?”

“I could, but I don’t wanna. Besides, what’m I gonna carry them in?” He held out a few of them to Ivo with a guileless smile. “Here, try some.”

With a sigh of resignation, Ivo popped them into his mouth. They were berries. They hadn’t been washed. That was about all that could be said about them, but at least Emil seemed pleased. “Emil, I’ve decided to show you one of my manufacturing plants.”

Emil stood upright and ate the last of the berries he’d picked. “One of them? How many do you got?”

Ivo shrugged. “What can I say? I’m one of this country’s beloved job creators. Anyway, I think we’ll go to the one in Wyoming in a week or so. Would you like that?”

“For real? You really mean it?” Emil couldn’t believe it. He was excited, especially since he didn’t actually think that Ivo had actually taken his request seriously.

Ivo crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t! Anyway, I’ll make arrangements for—”

Emil almost knocked him over as he flung his arms around him. The indignity of being interrupted was mitigated by the warmth of Emil’s lips against his, the passing of his tongue into his mouth, the weight of strong arms draped over his shoulders. Ivo pulled him closer, sliding his hand up Emil’s shirt, across the scar along his chest, back down to search for his belt buckle…

He pulled away and winced as something leaped onto a tree branch above them and began to squawk and bark. He looked up, searching for an obnoxious bird that needed to be shooed away, only to find himself in a staring contest with the largest fox squirrel he’d ever seen. He found himself growling back at it, only just self-aware enough to recognize this as a ridiculous endeavor. Then again, at least he hadn’t gotten into a shouting match with the thing.

“Jesus! Get the fuck outta here! Go! Fuck off!”

“Emil, that creature is less than a foot from my face. Don’t upset it!”

“_You’re_ the one who’s growlin’ at him!” The squirrel chattered and barked again, and as it shifted its weight on the branch, the two grown men flinched away from it. “Fuck off! We’re not botherin’ you!”

“Apparently we are…” Ivo glared at the little pest as the drone wandered back through the trees towards them, taking aim.

“Wh—Ivo what the fuck! Don’t kill it!”

“It’s going to attack us if we don’t!”

“That’s bullshit! Let’s just get outta—oh fuck!”

The squirrel took a flying leap from its perch and across the path overhead to a different tree, and it pounced on another squirrel. The two squirrels screeched before scurrying down into the forest floor, chasing each other through layers of dead leaves and branches.

Ivo took a deep breath and sighed. “Emil. We should leave before something out here bites us.”


	6. The Memos ("Satanic Trips" by Ritualz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's feeling cranky and full of whiskey. What a great time to write a memo to your employees! This is what happens when your boss absolutely hates your guts but wants to micromanage you at the same time. I'm sure that none of us have ever had to deal with anyone like that before, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is being wrangled and beaten into the shape of a readable mass of words as we speak, so in the meantime I thought I'd serve up a fun little _amuse douche_ of corporate communication. 
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns, and bricks that you'd like to throw at my window are always welcome, and if you have any movie!verse OCs that you'd like to have included in this story, just give me a shout and we'll see what we can do.

TO: Staff  
CC: Supervisors, Agents  
FROM: Dr. Ivo Robotnik, Your Benevolent Employer  
DATE: August 24th, 2019  
SUBJECT: Regarding My Newest Acquisition

It has come to my attention that my newest employee, Emil Sobel (see attached image,) has attempted to fraternize with some of you. Instead of showing gratitude for his acknowledgement of your presence, I’ve been told that you’ve responded with an extremely unprofessional display of fear and mistrust. While some of my employees neither notice nor care about your existence, and even take your endless toil for granted, Agent Sobel is a very considerate, down-to-earth person. Do not let his humble attitude deceive you, however. _Remember that my eye is ever upon you. _

Agent Sobel has expressed concern for everyone’s well-being and emotional state. I think you’ll agree that this is very kind of him. The dear thing still sees himself as a friend of the common man, even after I have elevated his position in this disgusting world in which we’re all trapped. It is unlikely that he’ll ever shut up about your welfare, so I would appreciate it if you filthy ingrates would reassure him that I’ve done nothing except to improve your miserable lives simply by employing you. You already have healthcare and dental, you have vacation days and sick days, and all of you receive a decent bonus just for showing up on federal holidays. Some of you have even received an increase in pay for good performance! Most people are paid less and receive none of the aforementioned benefits, but you have the good fortune of working for me, and you’d better not forget it.

Inappropriate conduct, going forward, will result in immediate disciplinary action, up to and including termination. Your priority, in addition to your assigned duties, is to make him feel as at home as possible. You are no longer allowed to display any signs of nervousness, malcontent, or abject fear. Any mention of unionization is to be ignored or dismissed in a lighthearted manner. Please bear in mind that, due to his misguided sense of duty to the working class and his native empathy, he will be able to see through your façade. _His_ sincerity may cost _you_ dearly, so I suggest that all of you either make yourselves scarce around him, or that you obtain a basic understanding of deceit and good acting.

Once more, in the event that you were unable to understand the above: do not give Agent Sobel _any_ reason to worry about your welfare. I think you will agree that I have been nothing if not benevolent and even-handed with every last one of you. Should you have any questions or concerns, please direct them to Agent Stone so that he may arrange a time for us to speak in person. I always enjoy hearing your endless, plaintive whining, as you all know.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Ivo Robotnik

* * *

TO: Supervisors  
CC: Agents  
FROM: Dr. Ivo Robotnik, Your Benevolent Employer  
DATE: August 24th, 2019  
SUBJECT: Regarding My Newest Acquisition

I’ve recently distributed a memo, carbon copied to you, regarding some disturbing trends in the behavior of your underlings. I trust that you understand the contents and meaning of my previous correspondence.

In order to avoid creating a sense of unease and any mutinous workplace conduct, I suggest that you keep your employees on a short leash. Whether you meet with them daily, encourage them to report aberrant behavior or mentions of collectivization to you, or any other means of control, I will leave this matter to your discretion. Should any of you uncover such behavior among your workers or fellow supervisors, you will receive a $500 bonus for reporting this to Agent Stone.

If you have any questions or concerns regarding this memorandum, please contact Agent Stone so that he may arrange a time for us to speak in person. I am confident, however, that all of you will be competent enough to carry out your duties as stated above.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Ivo Robotnik

* * *

TO: Agents  
FROM: Dr. Ivo Robotnik, Your Benevolent Employer  
DATE: August 24th, 2019  
SUBJECT: Regarding My Newest Acquisition

Given your incorrigible love of gossip, I’m sure that all of you have either heard about or have seen your newest fellow agent. His professional background is known to you by now, though most likely what you’ve heard is either patently false or grossly inaccurate. While I’m sure he would be flattered to be lauded as a “cop killer,” I regret to inform you that he has not actually murdered anyone according to my knowledge. After the distribution of this memo, he will be assigned an account on our company’s intranet and will be given access to future correspondences.

I implore you to show him the same respect and courtesy that you afford each other. While he’s skilled in the execution of petty crimes, he is unused to working in a professional capacity. Lend him advice or assistance if he asks, and gently lead him in the direction of a more pragmatic, less naïve outlook on life. If you treat him like one of your own, he’ll thrive and reach his true potential among us; in addition to this, he may confide in one of you should his motives or attitude toward our best interests become compromised by doubt or false information. Should he stray in his dedication to our common cause, please inform me at once so that I may resolve the issue. It is _not_ recommended that you attempt to address such an issue by yourself. He’s possessed of considerable strength, and his temper and good judgement are inversely proportional to any real or perceived threats. This isn’t to say that he would intentionally harm any of you of course, assuming that you don’t threaten his immediate safety, but as in any situation, you must exercise subtlety and wisdom.

I trust you to delete this memorandum after reading it. Do not let him know about the contents of this message, or I will be _very_ displeased, and I will find you. All of this is to say that I would like you to embrace the newest member of your family, if not for me, then for the sake of whatever you’ve left behind in my name.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Ivo Robotnik

* * *

TO: Agent Stone  
FROM: Dr. Ivo Robotnik  
DATE: August 24th, 2019  
SUBJECT: Regarding Emil

Your conduct toward Emil has not gone unnoticed, and while I’d expected as much from you, I strongly suggest that you find some common ground or reach an understanding with each other. Even the slightest hint of dissent between agents will undermine our “outfit,” as Agent Pasternak so charmingly calls it.

Additionally, if you _ever_ disrupt him during his morning workout routine again, you will find yourself as a representative of my corporation at a job fair in rural Illinois, sorting through reams of poorly formatted resumés submitted by whatever unqualified mouth-breathers wander past your table.

Your humble servant,  
Dr. Ivo Robotnik


	7. The Introductions ("Too Deep" by Kontravoid)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil meets some new friends, does a little reading, does some field training, and goes into a state of shock. Weird! Why would one of Robotnik's lackeys do that last part? It's a goddamn mystery...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH NOTHING WILL STOP ME FROM WRITING! Except that getting sick actually left me incapable of doing anything aside from sleeping, and then work kinda wore me out, and then there was the bout of depression...
> 
> Whatever. Just read the chapter.

It was dark by the time they made it back to the compound. As soon as Ivo put the car in park, Emil grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a deep, urgent kiss. Ivo pulled away and smiled at the sadness and confusion in his eyes.

“Ivo? What’s wrong?”

Finally, the power balance began to shift in his favor, as it rightfully should. “Nothing’s wrong. I have business to attend to,” Ivo said. “We’ll see each other again soon.” They held each other’s hand all the way to the elevator and, when Emil exited on the ground floor, they parted ways.

Emil sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He felt tired, but not tired enough to sleep. He glanced at his phone, at the glut of unanswered phone calls and messages, and suddenly his head hurt. He had to reply before someone tried to report him missing, or worse—before someone decided to stop talking to him altogether. Emil shuffled down the hall, staring at his phone screen. He only needed to answer a few at a time, Emil decided. Family first… maybe just his parents first. No, maybe just texting his siblings back would be enough, and they’d pass it along to his mom that he wasn’t dead in a ditch…

He tucked his phone away and tensed up at the sound of footsteps. He turned and saw Pasternak running toward him. He was wide-eyed and pallid. Sweat beaded on his brow, though whether it was from nerves or from physical exertion, Emil wasn’t sure.

“We got a security breach, kid! Here, take this gun—it’s yours.”

Emil frowned as Pasternak shoved a select-fire Glock into his hands. “A security breach? How’s that even possible?”

“Who cares?! We’ll figure it out later. Let’s clean this shit up before the doc finds out!”

Having been issued a new side arm, Emil followed Pasternak down the winding halls, through a manual door, and onto the moonlit lawn.

Standing out against the dark grass, two objects lay on the ground near the fence—drones, downed and sparking, wisps of smoke rising from the holes in their casing. There was movement in the peripherals of Emil’s sight, and before he could turn to see the intruder Pasternak had already fired three rounds. Emil took aim too, only to miss as many times as Pasternak.

“I thought you was a hunter!” The old man shouted.

“You don’t shoot running deer, dumbass!”

The person had no doubt noticed them by now, because they were running back toward the fences. A hole had been cut out of each fence exactly between two of the gun turrets, leading to a little tunnel through the pine branches growing near the outer barrier. Pasternak and Emil kept firing, one of them finally grazing the intruder’s leg. The intruder grunted and fell forward, and just as Emil was reloading his gun Pasternak lowered his.

“Holy shit…”

A third agent tore across the lawn, crowbar in hand. The intruder saw him as they were climbing to their feet, just in time for the crowbar to swing around in a wide arc and connect with their face with a wet, very loud crack. The intruder’s head twisted around and jerked back, toppling over as the structural integrity of their neck was suddenly, irreparably compromised. A thick red spray shot out from the impact site, and it was far too chunky to be just blood. Even from where he stood, Emil could see that the face had nearly folded in half from the force of impact.

“Holy shit!” Pasternak was frozen in place, but when Emil ran over to watch the carnage unfold, he sprinted after them.

Agent Stone raised the crowbar over his head like a wood cutter and bashed the intruder’s prone form several more times. He stood over the body, chest heaving, tears rolling down his cheeks as he smiled. Flecks of blood beaded on his suit and his beard. Pasternak took a few steps back; his shoulders felt tenser than ever and he was trembling.

“I have everything I want,” Stone finally muttered. Emil gave him an odd glance and a respectful distance, but he still wanted a closer look at the body.

It was the first time he’d seen a dead man in real life, one that hadn’t already been prepared for burial, one that didn’t have its face intact anymore. The jawbone was completely bashed in, and the fragments and the flesh were skewed to one side. The skull was utterly collapsed. It was a pink, bloody mass of bone shards and tissue, with only one eye and maybe a third of the face intact. For good measure, the chest cavity had been caved in as well. Blood gleamed in the moonlight as it pooled in the newly made trench, saturating the clothing, seeping out onto the lawn and into the earth. It was a different sensation, looking at this corpse, than what he felt when he’d beaten that cop half to death. He’d still been alive—severely injured and gurgling instead of screaming for help, but the man still lived.

“I have the doctor… I have my Sina back…” Agent Stone stumbled back and sat down on the turf, wiping his eyes. He laughed weakly, trying to wipe away his tears. “I lack for _nothing_ in this world now.” He laughed again, and it sounded much more like a whimper as he started to cry in earnest.

Pasternak didn’t say a word. He kept a safe distance away and never took his eyes off the crowbar. He lit a cigarette with shaky hands and took a long drag. He exhaled and ran a hand over his hair. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. “You uhh, you should probably… _Jesus_…”

Emil was transfixed by the mess before him. It couldn’t be called a human anymore, not now that its soul was gone and its face so disfigured. It disgusted and fascinated him at the same time. He wondered if there was something wrong with him, if he should have felt something stronger, something more than curiosity.

At a friend’s funeral, twelve years ago, he’d finally been brave enough to touch the body of a dead person. As he made his way through the procession toward the casket, watching people bow carefully over it, whisper their final words, place small tokens alongside the body, Emil had the notion to touch the hand of this man. His name had been Omar. They’d drunk together at the same bar, they’d played pool together, they’d watched hockey and soccer, and during national holidays they’d talked politics. When he placed his hand upon his friend’s, it hit home that this man was gone forever, and that this body could no longer be called a human. It was like a stiff plastic figure. It was no longer the body of a person; it was no longer meat and bone. It was neither cold nor warm, nothing but a room-temperature object like the fake floral arrangements. He staggered out into the lobby and cried with his face in his hands, wondering why people still showed the bodies of the departed anymore.

“_Sobel!_” Pasternak whispered. He felt queasy and afraid for his life, and now the new guy was within crowbar range, lost in thought and about to poke at the dead body. “Sobel, get the fuck away from that!”

Emil knelt down, careful not to let the blood touch his jeans. He reached down and placed his hand on the dead intruder’s arm. Minutes before, this man was breathing. Hot blood had rushed through his veins, to every capillary, pulsing back and forth in the heat of the moment. Now the skin was sallow. The heat had already begun to slip away into the cool air, and no movement was left within. Emil felt nothing, nothing except shame for his dulled reaction. He hoped to God that it was just shock.

Agent Stone sat with his head between his knees, his tears dripping straight onto the grass. Emil stood up. He opened his mouth before he could really think it through and said, “I’m glad for you, Stone.”

Pasternak nearly lost his cigarette. He grabbed it as it fell from his mouth and stuck it back between his teeth. Just what the fuck was this guy thinking?!

Agent Stone didn’t look up at first. He wasn’t how to respond.

“I really mean it,” Emil said. “You get to reconnect with your daughter now. I never had any kids, but I couldn’t imagine goin’ ten years without my own dad in the picture. She probably missed you the whole time, huh?”

“What are you doin’?!” Pasternak hissed. He grabbed Emil by the back of his hoodie and tried to yank him away from the man with the crowbar, but Emil stayed put.

“Anyway, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have given you a hard time. And I’m apologizing on behalf of the boss too, since that was a dick move showin’ up like that.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the whole property grew silent, save for the sway of the pines in the breeze. Emil wondered if his kneecaps were about to get busted, but he refused to budge.

After a moment, Agent Stone stood up. He studied Emil’s face, searching for the punchline. There wasn’t one. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “I should clean myself up. Pasternak will show you what we do when there’s a dead body.” He sighed and picked up the crowbar, walking back to the compound as if he was just taking a leisurely stroll under the moon.

“You got a death-wish or somethin’?” Agent Pasternak shook his head. “Stay here with the body. See if they got a phone or a wallet on them. I gotta get some tarps n’ shit. We’re gonna need to pull those teeth out too or… or dig ‘em out. Christ.”

“Where do we bury him?”

Agent Pasternak walked up and nudged one of the corpse’s legs with his foot, as if they needed any further confirmation that the man was well and truly dead. “We don’t dispose of corpses on the property, and we gotta move them outta town, too. This poor fucker’s goin’ on a road trip into another state. Hey, you should come with me.”

“I mean, I still gotta read that whole fucking manual the boss gave me,” Emil scratched at his stubble, thinking. The smell of the cheap tobacco and the current circumstances made him wish that he hadn’t quit smoking. He could already feel himself growing cold in spite of his hoodie. “Then again, if it’s gonna be that much of a drive, I guess I could read while we’re on the road. I’ll ask the boss about it. God knows I can’t concentrate on anything in this fuckin’ place…”

Pasternak watched the corpse bleed out, puffing away at his cigarette. “Yeah… this place gets to ya. I know exactly what you mean.” He clapped Emil on the shoulder. “Guys like you n’ me ain’t cut out for all this privatized military bullshit. This ain’t the racket for me. But it pays well, and it ain’t that hard workin’ for the doctor—unless he takes a likin’ to you, that is.”

Emil glanced at him sidelong. “What’s that mean?”

Not too far from them, a small cluster of drones had picked up on the two damaged units. Pasternak dropped his voice to a whisper and the two of them moved closer, leaning in toward each other. “Look, it’s one thing dealin’ with him in a professional matter. If he likes you for more than your discretion and work-ethic, however, you better enjoy havin’ him on your dick all the time.”

“But he’s a busy guy, right? He runs a whole goddamn corporation and he’s always inventing shit.” Emil whispered. “He wasn’t needy or anything when we were growing up…” He sighed. “He wasn’t that possessive or spiteful, either. Stone keeps tellin’ me he’s not the same man that I knew, and I’m starting to believe him.”

“Yeah, well, things happen to you when you get rich n’ you get a taste for destruction. And I’m guessin’ he wasn’t no angel growin’ up either, no matter what anyone says. Anyways, I’ll be back. We’ll pack this asshole up n’ get him into one of the cars after he bleeds out a little more.”

* * *

Sometime later, after some digging and probing, Benny and Emil found 28 teeth altogether.

“So do you guys keep these or something?”

“Huh? What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, kid?”

“I’m just askin’! I never ditched a body before! And I’m 45, you alter kocker.”

“Pf. Whatever.” Pasternak exhaled, now on his third cigarette since the incident. “I heard you never killed anyone before. Think you can take a life?”

“I don’t really know…” Emil grabbed one end of the tarped-up body, and Benny grabbed the other. “Guess I’ll have to at some point, huh?

“Not necessarily, and you definitely don’t gotta go apeshit on anybody like how our young friend just demonstrated. If the time comes, you don’t get a chance to think about it. If it makes you feel better though, you don’t gotta worry about doin’ time. Legal team’s reeeal good about that, assumin’ anyone finds you out in the first place. Just try n’ make sure there ain’t no witnesses, and don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

The car was parked on the lawn, an old Crown Vic. It wouldn’t draw much attention or use as much gas as a black Suburban, as Benny had explained to him. “Anyone smart enough sees those comin’, they’re gonna know somethin' sketchy’s up. Besides,” he’d said, “I gotta get this car detailed anyway.”

They shoved the body into the trunk of the car and drove back to the garage. “Just leave the trunk open for now. We’re gonna need some quicklime to get us through the car ride, but I’ll take care of that. Meet you at the bar, kid.”

Emil shook his head and smiled to himself as he shoved his hands into his pockets. It was the weirdest goddamn thing to bond over with someone, but this was all part of his job, he supposed. Pasternak had taken the wallet and other personal effects with him. There’d been a little cash, which the two of them split between themselves. There was a GoPro on the body, (“Alex Jones wannabe,” Emil had muttered,) as well as a notebook and a gun, the latter of which the poor man obviously couldn’t bring himself to use on them. Emil wondered what specifically the man had been looking for, and what he’d thought he’d accomplish in sprinting across the lawn like an idiot.

* * *

He went to his room, surprised to find it unoccupied save for Dozy. He brushed his teeth, checked his clothes for any blood and grime, and took off for the conference room.

There were a few more people within than Emil was prepared for, and if he hadn’t needed a drink so badly he would’ve turned right around and left. He needed to face his coworkers—no, he needed to _introduce_ himself to his coworkers. This was no place to be reclusive. He had to walk into the room and act as if he belonged there. He _did_ belong there. Emil repeated his therapist’s words to himself in his mind, though it occurred to him that perhaps she would have a different kind of advice for him regarding this exact predicament.

There were three men sitting at the bar, including Pasternak and Stone. Behind the bar was a young woman with her dark brown hair in a ponytail. She smiled when she saw him, and Pasternak glanced over his shoulder and grinned. As he made his way to the counter, he saw two other people in the room. One was a scruffy, middle-aged janitor; much to Emil’s delight, he didn’t flinch or go into hiding as he walked past him. At a table not too far from the bar, a young woman was slouched in her chair as she stared at her laptop.

This was it. He had to make sure that everyone knew he wasn’t in the least bit uncomfortable around them. “Alright,” he said. “Who else here’s fucked the boss?”

Agent Stone’s eyes went wide, and he downed the rest of his wineglass. Emil had a split second to regret his words before Benny and the lady behind the counter started laughing. She raised her hand, as did Stone, as did the man sitting to the left of Emil. He looked over at the janitor, who had stopped mopping and raised his hand as well.

“Well alright, I guess I know why I’m here… Benny! How’d you keep your job without suckin’ his dick?”

“He’s pretty strict about his no-harassment policy,” the woman behind the counter said, “except for the part where he’s not supposed to proposition us.”

“At least he’s not pushy,” said the guy to the left of Emil. He was about Stone’s age, Emil guessed, with a clean-shaven face and closely cropped black hair. “Steve Kovac. I work with Morse over there.” He nodded to the woman with the laptop, and Emil turned on his bar-stool and waved.

“Sabrina Morse,” she said, looking up. She was pudgy and dressed about as well as Emil was in her Mothman shirt and her ill-fitting jeans, and her expression made it clear that she did not give a fuck what he thought about her. Either that, or she had depression. Emil liked this woman already. “The boss sent us—"

“Wait! I’ll tell him. He won’t touch me!” Emil turned back around and looked at the other woman. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her voice was full of delight as she spilled the beans. “The boss sent us all a memo saying we all have to be nice to you.”

“He what?! Jesus!” Emil buried his face in his hands as he felt himself go red all the way to the ears. He was going to kill that man. “Jesus Christ…”

“Yep, and we have to report you if you show signs of empathy or something—I don’t know, I’m just paraphrasing.”

Agent Stone finally spoke up. “He also said we have to treat you like family. Luckily we already do that. We all hate each other.”

“Yep,” Morse said. “Fuck you, Sobel.”

Emil groaned, and the woman behind the counter reached over and gave him a pat on the head. “Just call me Tess, okay? Here, let me get you a beer. I heard you like cheap shit. How about a Natty Light? I might still have some Old Style, but Stone says you wiped us out…”

Emil sighed. “How ‘bout Red Stripe? Got any Red Stripe?”

“Now you’re just being an jackass.” She set down a Coors on a cocktail napkin. “Benny! I told you to stop smoking in here!”

“I don’t see no fuckin’ signs…” He leaned against the counter and took a nice, long pull, only to choke and cough when she snatched the cigarette and put it out in his shot of whiskey. “Shit!”

“Anyway,” Tess turned her attention back to Emil. “All I really do is keep inventory back here and act as a bartender during meetings. Sometimes the brass or the stockholders come around and want to see what they’re throwing their money at. The boss gives them a presentation, they eat dinner, he hits on their wives and daughters, he resists the urge to knock ‘em all out and send them back to DC or wherever—”

“Wait,” Emil held up his hand, just about to take a sip. “He does _what_ now?”

“I’m serious.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a gas mask. “He really wants to knock them out. He hates speaking with… well, all of them. Right?” She glanced over at Agent Stone, who nodded.

“No—the part where he’s… like… their _daughters?_”

“No minors, just those naïve Young Conservative types. Twenty-somethings who have daddy issues and might suddenly change their mind about abortions if the need arises.”

“Yeah,” Kovac chimed in. “You shoulda seen what happened with that one guy’s daughter—what was his name?”

“Bennington,” Tess said, smiling. “Her father was livid, but she was in love…”

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t stick around long though. Wonder why?”

Emil sighed and looked at Kovac. “Maybe because he’s a controlling, condescending bastard who loves mind games?”

“Oh, that? No. She ghosted on him long before she could get on his bad side. The weird stuff happened first.”

“The weird stuff.”

Tess interjected, paying no mind as the janitor walked behind the bar and made himself a margarita. “It’s not _that_ weird in my experience, and it’s probably not the kind of weird you’re thinking of. He has… issues. Anyway, he fucked Hope Hicks too. She kept coming back for more for like, three months. It was sometime after she got booted from the White House.”

Emil frowned, glad to move away from the subject of weird stuff. “Wait, isn’t that the chick who’s always on Fox News?”

“You’re probably thinking of Kellyanne Conway.” Tess laughed and gave Emil another beer. “God, I’d _love_ to see her and Robotnik in the same room…”

“Here,” Pasternak held up his phone for Emil to see a picture of her. “Here she is. Not bad, huh? Guess she’s into creepy old men. Wouldn’t give _me_ the time of day though.”

Emil’s eyes widened as he took a good look at the young woman on the screen. “Wow…” She had long hair and excellent fashion sense, the cheekbones of a model, and a smile that some might have called malicious.

Emil smirked. He wouldn't kick a woman like her out of bed for being a little mean or amoral; dangerous-looking women were more attractive to him in a strange way. Maybe it was because he already knew ahead of time that they'd ditch him, and he could be a little more okay with the abandonment.

“I don’t know why anyone bothers with him.” Morse sipped her ginger beer and shook her head. “Not like he’s into ruining people’s reputations, but he fucks you and now what? You have to listen to him talk about himself and his dumb bullshit, and you have to smile and nod until your head falls off your neck…”

“Hell if I know,” Emil said. “I’m still asking myself that.” He looked up at the dome-shaped camera on the ceiling and waved. “By the way—_hi boss!_ Thanks for making a fool out of me before I could do it myself!”

Pasternak clapped him on the back. “Don’t take it too hard. He treats everyone like that, by which I mean he gives us backhanded compliments n’ shit all the time, not the memo thing. The memo was weird.”

“Yeah, that’s another level of power move.” Stone muttered. It didn’t make Emil feel any better, and it seemed to bother Agent Stone just about as much as it did him. He took the wine bottle and slinked out of the conference room without another word.

The room fell quiet as everyone minded their cups for a while. Tess put away the gas mask with a sigh and pulled out her phone.

Emil decided it was time to have that talk he’d been telling himself he absolutely had to have with Agent Stone. “Well guys, I have a big-ass employee’s novel to read. I’ll see you all around, right?”

They nodded and muttered something in the affirmative. Pasternak grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re not gonna go after Stone, are ya?”

“I sure am.”

“After that fuckin’ show outside?”

“Yep.”

“What show?” Kovac asked.

Emil glanced at Pasternak and nodded to him. “You tell ‘em. I’m out.”

* * *

Emil found him sitting in the break area outside. He sat on a bench with his back to one of the lilac bushes. He didn’t say anything at first when Emil sat down near him; he took a sip of wine from the bottle and set it down next to him.

Emil sat quietly for a moment, thinking of what to say. “You really fucked that guy up. Never woulda thought you could do something like that.”

Agent Stone sighed, staring at the ground between his feet. “What else do you think I’m incapable of doing?”

He had to choose his next words with extreme caution. Emil knew that, but he couldn’t give Stone much time to linger on what he’d just said, either. “You just don’t seem prone to violence, that’s all. I’ll be honest. First time I met you, I thought you were gonna be a petty little bitch to me. You weren’t, but I was. Sorry about that.”

“Everyone’s dumber when they’re buzzed.”

“Guess so.” Emil scratched his beard. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Agent Stone hadn’t taken his eyes off the concrete. “Probably.”

“How’d you meet the boss? Was he like this when you first met him?”

“Hmm.” Agent Stone took a sip of wine while he considered this. “He wasn’t quite as… eccentric back then. He dressed strangely for a man in his thirties though, and he was arrogant.”

_Just like old times,_ Emil thought with a smile.

Stone continued. “He has every reason to be arrogant. He’s not like us. He built this empire by himself—he wasn’t a trust-fund kid or anything like that. I don’t think he’s ever worked for anyone except for himself. It’s almost like he has an ultimate calling, something that we can’t understand.”

Emil nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He wasn’t such a condescending bastard back then either. He was actually kinda shy when I met him.”

Agent Stone raised his eyebrows at that. “Shy? Him?”

“Yeah. In an innocent way though, not like he was some kinda creep or somethin’. He was reserved, but everyone around him could tell it was just a front. He was intense in a quiet way.” Emil laughed. “He used to enjoy the outdoors, too. He never liked it as much as I did, but then again, I don’t think anyone does. Anyway, he left while I was just about to enter my junior year.” He’d been his boyfriend up until the end of summer. He’d been the only one who knew his true name at the time, the first to call him Emil. “Anyway, I met him when I beat up another kid for pushing him around. I was genuinely surprised he didn’t just get mad at me. Most boys woulda gotten their pride hurt, right?”

“Right. Huh.” Stone looked up at Emil as he thought. “I met him one night at a frat house, if you can believe it.” He laughed at Emil’s expression. “I’m serious! It was a quiet night though—finals week. He was drinking Riesling and he invited me to talk with him.” He shifted his weight, crossing one leg over the other, and loosened his tie a little. “We talked. He kept his arm around me the whole time, and he whispered in my ear instead of trying to shout over all the noise. I knew from the moment I saw him that I wanted to go home with him. Fortunately, that was exactly what he’d planned.”

Emil furrowed his brow. “So… what year were you in when you met him?”

Agent Stone uncrossed and crossed his legs again, scowling at Emil and then looking away. “I was a freshman. Eighteen. It was my choice to go with him and I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I ain’t gettin’ at anything.”

Stone sighed and some of the tension loosened. “Everyone keeps bringing it up… it’s fine. So. You beat up another kid and saved him, I shacked up with him for a couple of years. I actively sought him out, and he went out of his way to find you.”

“Is he givin’ you shit about it?”

“No, nothing like that. I just don’t understand.”

“Me neither. You were right—I don’t fit the mold. I don’t really belong here. It’s almost like he’s having a midlife crisis or something, like he wants me around so he can feel young again.”

“He doesn’t act his age—not to say that he’s immature.” Stone took another sip. The bottle was mostly empty now.

“How did he word it to you when he said he was gonna hire me? Did he even warn you first?”

That earned him a bitter laugh. “He did. He had the consideration of letting me know. The doctor told me that you would make him ‘feel safe.’ I’m not sure what that means, though.”

Wasn’t that what he’d said to him back in the trailer? Emil scratched his head. “What’s he got to be afraid of?”

“I don’t know. I’d say nothing, but apparently that’s not true.” He stood up and grabbed his wine bottle. He watched Emil mull that over. “Whatever the case may be, we can’t afford any infighting. We’ll have to work together to make sure he’s okay if he really is worried about something.”

Emil held out his hand, and Agent Stone shook it. “I’m not here to cause problems or make your life miserable. Everything you’ve said or done so far makes me like you more. You’re not a bad guy at all.” Emil crossed his arms and smirked. “I am gonna fuck him though.”

Agent Stone gave him a tired sigh of resignation. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“You really are a good man, Stone.”

“Not entirely.” Agent Stone smiled weakly. “Just be careful. Earnestness is a liability around here. Goodnight, Sobel.”

“You too.” Emil frowned. “Hey… did he ever tell you how old he is?”

“He… no. It never came up. I never asked him.”

“He’s 47.”

Agent Stone thought about it, and then he shrugged. “Well, now I know. See you tomorrow.”

And then, Emil was alone. It was just him and his cellphone, and all of the people who were waiting to hear from him. With a sigh he dialed his mom. Family first.

* * *

It turned out that, not counting the index and contents page, the employee manual was exactly 359 pages. He cursed himself. Any page count ending in 59 always ended up especially difficult to finish for some reason. It had plenty of space in the margins, presumably for note-taking, and the text wasn’t small by any means, but it was still a lot of fucking pages. The first chapter was about workplace safety, harassment policies (which were a joke, apparently,) smoking and drinking (another joke,) and what to do in case of various emergency situations. It was the same shit that one would find in any other employee handbook, except the evacuation maps were unlabeled, and it wasn’t clear which floors they were referencing.

By the time he finished the first two chapters it was midnight. He’d spent more time waiting for the bedroom door to open and for Ivo to come striding in than he’d cared to admit, but now he was too tired of reading and too tired of waiting. The best he could do at this point in the night was to finish reading what he could manage before passing out. He climbed into bed, pulled up the covers, and read the same paragraph three times over before he fell asleep.

Six o’clock came around, and his alarm went off. Emil groaned. He sat in bed with the blanket over his head and wrapped around him for a few minutes until he gained the will to get up and feed Dozy.

He did his pushups and crunches for the day, and just as he was finishing his last set someone knocked on the door. Emil frowned. There was no way that Robotnik was on the other side, waiting patiently and quietly for Emil to answer. He pulled on a shirt before opening the door.

“Hey, kid. You gonna go with me today or not?”

“Ah shit… can you wait a few minutes? I should ask the boss first.”

Benny shrugged. “I’ll be in the cafeteria. Just don’t keep me waitin’ too long.”

“I’ll try not to.” Emil closed the door and got dressed—civilian clothes once more, with a double-layered hoodie in case he got cold again.

When he found Ivo he was in one of his labs, soldering something. It looked like he was working on one of the damaged drones; its casing had been removed and set aside. The lab was brightly lit now, unlike the darkened hallways and the sinister (and very extra) red ambiance lighting from the other night. Emil narrowed his eyes, wondering if Ivo had actually had mood lighting installed in his god damned labs.

Agent Stone was on the phone just out of earshot, talking to someone about cutting their hair. Judging by how many times he insisted that it was their decision and by the pitch of his voice, Emil figured it must have been his daughter on the other line.

He paid no mind and walked up to Ivo. “Mornin’, boss!”

Robotnik grinned, not taking his eyes off of this delicate procedure. “Emil! Just one second, I’m almost done… there.” He set aside his soldering iron and came around the counter. “What is it? Are you already done with reading the manual?”

Emil stuck his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Actually, I was gonna talk to you about that.” He didn’t give Ivo a chance to interject, instead smiling and keeping his tone light and cheerful. “Pasternak wants me to drive out with him to ditch a body. I was thinking that I could get my reading done while I’m on the road and get some field training in while I’m at it. How’s that sound?”

Ivo rolled his eyes, closed them, and gave a long sigh as if a toddler had gone wild with the walls and a bucket of finger paint.

Agent Stone abruptly hung up on Sina and stared at Emil. “Sobel! Did—you can’t tell him—”

“Oh, shut up.” Ivo said dismissively to him. “Did you forget that I _see everything?_ I know what happened, and I admire your show of brute force in the name of maintaining security.”

Agent Stone’s expression shifted from fear to embarrassment, then from embarrassment to pride and bashful glee. He had nothing more to say aside from a quiet “thank you, doctor!”

Ivo turned his attention back to Emil. “Must you go with him? You already left the compound yesterday.”

“I’ll still be working while I’m out!”

Ivo sighed again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you insist, Emil. Just don’t be too long.”

“I mean, we gotta ditch it somewhere across the state line, but I’ll try not to waste any time. Besides, I got my phone with me, remember?”

“Yes, yes, of course you do. Just hurry. I have something to show you when you get back—”

Emil stood on the tips of his toes and gave Ivo a kiss. “Thanks, boss! Can’t wait to see what it is.” He turned and left the room, grinning but still too anxious to see what the expression on Ivo’s face might be. He swallowed his self-doubt for now and grinned at Agent Stone. “He’s all yours, tiger.”

Agent Stone glared at him. “_Thanks_.”

* * *

After a three-hour drive, they reached their destination—a piece of land with a farm and some pasture, and with plenty of wooded, hilly places to hide just about anything one wanted. There were two trucks in the driveway near the farmhouse—one on cinderblocks and rusted to all hell, the other not quite as old and sitting under a maple tree, gathering wet leaves on its windshield. The dew had already risen from the grass by the time they rolled in. Benny steered his car down a thin dirt road, trying his best not to hit every single pothole on the way into the depths of the property.

“Okay, so there’s like about a dozen emergency plans so far, and most of them involve sitting patiently in my room…” Emil squinted and adjusted his glasses and did his best to steady the page as they crossed a very muddy, very rough patch of clay. “‘Anomalous Incursion from an Unidentified Organization or Individual…” He scratched his head and looked at Pasternak. “What the fuck is this?”

“Hell if I know. He didn’t have no employee manual when I started workin’ for him.” He nearly bit his tongue off coming down a hill and talking at the same time. “He wanted me to read it when he finally wrote it up, but if an anomalous home invasion or whatever happens, how ‘bout you just gimme the cliff notes?” He put the car in park in the driest, most even patch of dirt that he could find and popped the trunk.

“I guess so.” It read like Ivo had stopped at the first draft of the manual, which didn’t surprise him in the least. Every time they had to do an essay, Emil had to have the same talk with him over and over—you have to proofread for readability. You have to trim down the exposition to suit the audience, you have to assume that the reader at least knows the basics of whatever subject you’re writing about…

He helped Pasternak wrestle the stiff body out of the trunk and strap it onto a handcart. “Think we’ll be able to get this through the woods?” He grabbed the handle of the handcart, and Pasternak pulled out a hacksaw and a sledgehammer, the latter of which he carried over one shoulder.

“Probably not, but if we can shorten this slog then I’ll try anything. Butcherin’ a corpse is as fun as watchin’ paint dry. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Emil pushed the handcart about a foot before he realized that pulling it along would be his best bet. “You’d think the doctor would have an incinerator or something…”

“Yeah, well, guess he’d rather be overcautious about havin’ people’s bones on his property. In my experience, it doesn’t pay to cut corners when you’re dealin’ with a body.”

“How much experience do you have with dead bodies?”

“Not much, not before I started workin’ for the doctor anyway. Before this I was just a bookie, ran numbers—petty shit like that, nothin’ too crazy. Then I got in trouble with the wrong people, see? I owed them a little too much money, took too long trying to scrape it together… I was on my way home to shoot myself before they could get to me, and when I got to the boarding house, there he was—this little creep dressed like some kinda… I dunno, a vampire I guess. His fashion sense ain’t gotten any better with time. Anyway, he was just sittin’ in my room with this shit-eating grin and a briefcase full’a money. It wasn’t a loan, he said, but he did have a business proposal—I start workin’ for him, I don’t ask too many questions, and I clean up messes for him. Don’t know why he thought I’d be any good at breakin’ legs n’ takin’ lives, but it turned out he made a good choice hirin’ me. This job really helped me reach my potential.”

The sudden bitterness in Benny’s voice didn’t escape Emil, but he said nothing for now.

“It was just me n’ this guy named Mancini, keepin’ people quiet one way or another to protect our employer’s privacy. God bless that guy. I wouldn't know what the fuck I'm doin' at all if it wasn't for him.”

Emil had hit the hundredth hidden branch since the start of their hiking trip. He wrestled the handcart over the impediment with a frustrated grunt. “How’d he even find out? You’re telling me he sought you out or something?”

“Nah, I think it’s more like he just happened upon me, like by coincidence or something. It’s like he has this knack for findin’ people who got nothin’ to lose. He just plucks ‘em up, gets ‘em back on their feet, and then they owe him their lives. Tess was in a similar situation. She was an escort, wound up with a _real_ bad client, had to kill him… No one’s gonna care if an escort had to shoot a guy in self-defense, right? Poor girl woulda rotted in jail for life.”

Emil frowned. “Huh? How do you know that? And how much further do I gotta drag this thing?”

“Not much farther. Anyway, I was there when it happened. I mean, I was around for it. She told me all about how she met him. It was at this upscale restaurant, and he was talkin’ to a prospective investor. She was sittin’ at another table, white as a sheet n’ on the verge of tears. This asshole was whisperin’ something to her, and it wasn’t sweet nothins’. She was lookin’ all around, hoping that someone would make eye contact with her, like take notice of her predicament, see?”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“The boss looked her right in the eye. Without his client even realizin', he’d sized up the situation. Maybe he’d already been watching them. Maybe that’s why he was watchin' her. Anyway, he looks her in the eye, right? _And he winks at her_. Let’s stop here. We’ll do it here.”

Emil stopped, tried to stand the handcart upright, and then he gave up and let it fall over. “He winked at her?”

“Yeah! They leave before he does, he texts me, tells me to follow them and find out where she is n’ what’s goin’ on. I follow them to this hotel, n’ before I get to the door I hear a gunshot and a scream. I’m thinkin’ it’s too late, and then she runs out into the hall, cryin’ and shakin’. I see her n’ tell her to come with me before the cops show up, n’ I guess she’s too scared to argue, y’know? She ain’t a killer by nature. Anyway, I grab the gun, get her into the car, n’ go back to pick up the boss. He jumps in back and I drive them outta the city while they talk. She’s just _terrified_.” Pasternak had already set the hacksaw and the sledgehammer aside, and now he was sitting on a fallen tree and lighting a cigarette. “Oh—just take him apart n’ we’ll scatter all the pieces. You gotta get him outta those clothes though. Have fun.”

Emil was going to ask him if he was going to help, but he already knew the answer. “Thanks. So does he offer her the job then? Is he blackmailing her?”

“Nah… at least, I don’t think so. He don’t _explicitly_ hold nothin’ over people’s head, and if he did? Tess woulda told me by now. But yeah, he tells her that he’ll take care a’ her, that he’ll clean this shit up for her, that she don’t gotta worry no more… ‘oh, and by the way, I have a job offer for you!’ And he ain’t askin’ much from her. She doesn’t do any fieldwork, nobody’s allowed to touch her—she just keeps an eye on things on the front end of our little mom n’ pop business, y’know? So she’s calmed down by now, and she agrees. I think she really still feels like he saved her. Can’t be sure though. Maybe it’s an act. I don’t ask ‘cause I don’t think she likes talkin’ about herself.”

“Yeah, I think I can understand why… Jesus…” Emil was still peeling blood-caked pieces of clothing off of the body. He hadn’t gotten to the jeans yet, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He ripped away the last piece of the dead man’s shirt and, with a sigh, unzipped the guy’s pants.

Benny took a long drag and exhaled. “Yeah, I hate that part too. You’re doin’ great, kid. Keep up the good work!”

“Fuck you, Pasternak. So, does he find all his agents like that?” Emil grimaced and stopped to take the corpse’s shoes and socks off first.

“Yeah, I dunno about all of ‘em—definitely not the lower-ranked ones. But no one’s turned on him yet. Maybe we’re a cult n’ no one told us. Fuck if I know.”

“Maybe we get paid a shit-ton of money and get to do whatever we want.” Emil had been standing over the corpse, preparing himself to strip naked a dead man. He ran his hand over his face and sighed.

“And you get to be in on something that others ain’t. That’s kinda appealing to some people, I guess. Here, y’know what? Lemme help you. I’m gettin’ sick of sittin’ out here.” He stuck his cigarette in his mouth and stooped down, and with grim determination he yanked the pants and briefs off of the corpse at the same time.

Emil felt his face redden. He scowled and crossed his arms. “Look! I just don’t usually take people’s pants off without their permission, okay?”

“He’s dead.”

“That’s another thing—I don’t strip down corpses.”

“Get over it, kid. You embarrassed or somethin’?”

“No! I just don’t like naked dead bodies, okay?!”

“Whatever. You got a problem with cuttin’ up a body too?”

Emil picked up the hacksaw. This didn’t really feel much better, but at least he didn’t have to take a dead man’s pants off. Besides, this was all to keep Ivo safe, right? Cutting up the body of a dead reporter so no one found out what they did to him? Well, whatever. The guy was already dead. He wasn’t coming back. Even if he did, he’d probably want a replacement body, one that still had a face.

Emil took a deep breath, staring down at the disfigured corpse. “Guess I’ll have to get over it.”

He started at the knees. He put his back into it, sawing through the bones. He’d done this to deer before. He’d butchered animals. This wasn’t entirely different, was it?

The legs and arms weren’t as tough as he’d thought they’d be. The body didn’t smell great, of course, but it had been almost entirely exsanguinated, which helped a lot. The bones were clean and white against the flesh, which was already starting to turn. He knew the worst part was coming up. He braced himself, wishing he’d brought a hunting knife to properly eviscerate the body. He really didn’t want to drive all the way home with the stench of busted-up intestines in his clothes and hair.

“Who the fuck is… who’s texting me?” Emil pulled his phone from his pocket and checked his messages. “It’s the boss again…”

“‘Again?’” Benny raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! He’s been texting me since, I dunno, since we left town. I told him everything’s fine, but he keeps checking in on me.” Emil sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. He picked up the sledgehammer. “What if we just break up the rest of it and let the coyotes take care of it? We already took his teeth…” He smashed in what was left of the poor man’s skull. He took a step back and scratched his head as he beheld his handiwork. “So someone lives on the property, right? How do they feel about us dumping a body here?”

“Doesn’t matter. Ain’t even his property. He gets paid to live here and mind his own business. Only reason he’s really here is to keep people off this property, far as I know.”

“Huh…” Emil rubbed his shoulder, staring at the mutilated corpse. “So, think we’re done here?”

“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s get outta here.”

By the time they got on the road again, it was well past noon. They headed back west, and as Benny drove Emil read through all of the texts that Ivo had sent him.

He wanted to know if he’d remembered to bring his manual with him. He wanted to know if they’d gotten there yet, and he wanted Emil to call him. In fact, the doctor had called him several times himself. He demanded a response a few more times, accused him of subordination, threatened to surrender his cat to a shelter, apologized with a wall of words for threatening to surrender his cat to a shelter, and then followed up with another text simply demanding to know where he was.

“God… What’s he gettin’ so antsy about? Doesn’t he have shit to take care of?”

Benny laughed. “Told ya, kid. That’s what happens when he decides he likes you. He makes your life a living hell. Most people get sick of it real fast, but some people like the attention.”

“You can just say Agent Stone. It’s okay.” He read through the messages again, trying to formulate a response that might put him at ease, and instead settled for a _sorry, I was out in the woods :). _This won him an immediate phone-call from Ivo. “Fuck!” He answered the phone, and punched Benny in the arm as he did so. This did not make Benny stop cackling.

“_Emil!_ I’ve been trying to contact you for the past six hours!” Emil grimaced and held the phone away from his ear. “_Why haven’t you responded?_ A simple text would have sufficed!”

“Sorry boss, but I was dragging a corpse through the woods! Then I had to chop it up all by myself while Pasternak sat around and smoked.”

Benny fired back, “you didn’t even finish the job, you fucker!”

“You could have taken a few minutes to reply to me and we both know it,” Robotnik muttered. “Have you even made any progress with your main assignment?”

“Yeah! I’m like 200 pages in, and I’m learning a lot!”

“Well, at least—”

“So far the biggest lesson here is that you _still_ can’t be bothered to write a second draft. Did you write this yourself? Because this reads like if you took every essay you wrote in high school and deleted all the adjectives.”

“I—_how dare you!_ I didn’t even write it!”

“Then you sat over the writer’s shoulder and dictated the whole thing to them. I can tell. I had to edit all your shit for you, remember?” Emil slouched down in his seat and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for ignoring your messages—”

“So you admit it! You _were_ ignoring me!”

“Shit!” Emil ran his free hand through his hair. “Look, I told you! I had a lot to do.”

“And apparently communicating with me wasn’t a priority.”

Emil hoped to God that the boss couldn’t hear Benny’s laughter. His face flushed all the way to his ears, and he wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor of the car, or at least go deaf for a while. “I’m sorry, okay? We’re headed back, and when I get there I’ll finish the rest of the manual.” He sighed. “I thought you kept track of us or something.”

“Of course I keep track of my employees, you little bastard! But for all I knew, you could have been lying dead in the back of a pickup truck. If you won’t respond to me out of consideration, then at least do so, going forward, _because I command you to do so._”

“Fine! I’m not—shut up, Benny! Look, boss, I’m sorry I wasn’t considerate! Can we talk about this when I get back?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I hope I’m not embarrassing you. Did I humiliate you in front of your peers?”

“I didn’t even bring up that fucking memo, _sir_. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Who told--?!”

Emil hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Jesus…” He glared at Benny, who’d finally calmed down. “Thanks, asshole.”

“I didn’t do nothin’! I ain’t getting’ in the middle of that shit, either. He’s _your_ fuckin’ problem, not mine.”

“Whatever.” He sat up and stared in the sideview mirror. “Hey. How long has that car been following us?”

“Huh?” Benny looked out the rearview mirror and frowned. “Let’s keep goin’ down the highway, see what happens.”

“Yeah…” Emil didn’t take his eyes off the car. The both of them fell silent, each of them deep in thought.

“Hey,” Benny said after a while. “It’s gettin’ late, huh? Let’s find a motel.”

Emil looked at him like he was suggesting they flip the car over the guardrail, then he realized what he was onto. “Yeah, sure. Think they got any good Chinese places around here?”

“Doubt it. Let’s exit here…”

* * *

They pulled up to a motel which looked passable. Maybe the roaches would stay out of sight. The bathroom might be clean. None of the blinds looked like they were broken. Neither Benny nor Emil cared; they’d both done worse.

The man in the lobby gave them a key card for a single king-sized room on the second floor. The two of them weren't particularly comfortable with the idea of sleeping in the same bed, but neither of them argued. It was probably cheaper, and it just wasn’t worth making a fuss.

“Maybe he’s just trying to support The Gays,” Emil grumbled.

“Why’s he gotta assume I’m gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I don’t got nothin’ against gays—”

“Just shut up already.” Emil frowned as he tried to get the reader to accept his key card a second time. “Why the fuck would I even hook up with you, anyway? You smell like the Marlboro man.” Speaking of, as soon as he got the door to open, they were overwhelmed by the stale air of a room that clearly had no functioning fire alarm. At some point, someone had tried to spray some lemony air freshener around the room, but it did nothing to dispell the odor of old cigarettes and mold, except to add a little garnish to the olfactory profile.

“Least I don’t wear orange pants. What, you tryin’ to look like a convict or somethin’?”

“Fuck off. Make sure that guy doesn’t have any secret cameras or something. I’ll…” He sighed and grimaced, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll let the boss know we’re taking a detour.”

Benny was already searching every crevice of the ancient wood paneling, every minute crack in the ceiling. “Yeah, have fun with that.”

Emil didn’t dignify that with a response as he stepped outside. He leaned on the railing and stared out at the horizon. The sun had just descended a few minutes ago. A streetlight by the four-lane highway was the only source of lighting now, save for the the warm glow from the lobby window below. There weren’t any other buildings in the immediate area, except for a gas station a mile down by the intersection. No other cars were in the parking lot and, presumably, no other occupants.

He glanced down at his phone, half expecting it to light up with another bevy of texts, simply because he was looking at it. With a sigh, he dialed Ivo’s number and lowered the volume before putting it to his ear. As he did so, he noticed a car pull into the parking lot below. They parked on the far end of the motel and got out, and they stared up at him.

Emil was so busy watching, he almost didn’t notice that Ivo had picked up immediately.

“Emil! What’s going on? You should have been back by now!”

“We’re at a motel,” Emil whispered. “Someone’s staring at me.”

“A motel?”

“Just listen,” he hissed. “Someone was following us, so we took a detour, and I’m pretty sure they’re in the parking lot.”

“_Who’s_ following you? I don’t have time for—”

“I dunno! I dunno what to do!” Emil stopped and lowered his voice again. “I didn’t get to the part of your horrible novel where I have to deal with stalkers. What do I do?”

“It’s not—” Ivo sighed. “Just stay where you are, and keep your voice down. What are they doing right now?”

“They’re just watching me… I don’t understand. They’re not being very subtle. Almost like they want me to talk with them or something…”

There was silence on the other end for the briefest moment. When Ivo spoke, he sounded calm and, for some reason, pleased. “I’ve already taken care of it for you, Emil.”

“Huh?”

The door to the motel room burst open. Benny had a supresser attached to his gun, but even so Emil had to cover his ears. He fired two shots and the man crumpled to the ground.

“Make sure there are no witnesses. Pasternak will help you with the rest.” Ivo paused briefly. “Hurry home, Emil,” he purred.

The manager had the phone in his hand when Emil kicked in the door. He screamed and reached under his desk. Emil grabbed a cheap folding chair at the same time and swung it at the man’s head. When that wasn’t enough to knock him out, Emil leaped onto the counter and as the hotel manager backed away, he caught him in the jaw with his steel-toed boot. He hit the floor with a loud thud. As Emil dragged him out from behind the counter, Benny ran inside and brushed past him.

“Shit… you’re lucky he didn’t blast yer head off, kid! He dead?”

“Probably not. I kicked him in the jaw.”

“You what?” He shook his head as he grabbed the shotgun from under the counter and tossed it to Emil. “Just make sure this ain’t in the trunk with that poor bastard. I called backup and they’re on their way. We gotta get outta here fast though. I’ll see what kinda security setup he’s got here…”

As Benny searched the back room and made another phone-call, Emil popped the trunk and dragged the manager out onto the curb. He was taping the man’s wrists behind his back when he started to regain consciousness. A punch to the back of the head stunned him just enough for Emil to get a couple more layers around his chubby wrists. He turned him over to tape his mouth shut, and hesitated when he saw the fear and dread in the man’s blue eyes. He straddled the man’s chest and kept his knee under his chin to hold his jaw shut. “Sorry. Wrong place, wrong time. Just get in the trunk and don’t make a fuss. Got it?”

He had the manager squeeze himself into the trunk, and he slammed the lid down on the trunk. He leaned against it, shotgun resting on the lid, as he tried to collect his thoughts.

That day, he’d taken apart a corpse. The night before that, he’d watched a man become the corpse that he’d sawed and smashed to pieces today. The clothing of that dead man was stuffed into a bag in the back of Benny’s car, alongside an old Burger King bag full of garbage from their drive out of town. Now, he had a live human locked in a car trunk, and he didn’t know if this man would be alive twenty-four hours from now. He felt cold and clammy, and any appetite he’d had earlier soured.

“Kid? Hey. Snap out of it!” Benny was shaking his shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta go. Get in.”

* * *

Emil felt absolutely drained, but the whole ride back he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. Benny tried talking him down at first, but he gave up, and the two of them rode in silence. By the time they made it back to the compound, it was past midnight. Four lower-ranked agents were waiting for them. Without a word they hauled the man from inside the trunk, cut the tape around his ankles, and marched him toward a freight elevator that Emil hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t realize that Benny was talking to him until Benny grabbed his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

“Hey! You gonna be alright, kid? You need a drink. You’ll be fine. C’mon. Let’s get you a drink.”

One of the passenger elevators opened, and the doctor stepped out. One look from him, and Pasternak let go of Emil and slinked away.

“The both of you have done well,” Robotnik said, his eyes on Emil. He placed an arm around him, and Emil leaned against him. “I think someone’s tired. Oh! Where did Agent Pasternak go? Never mind. Let’s go upstairs. It sounds like you’ve had a busy day. Let’s get you cleaned up and tucked into bed.”

Emil followed him, hand in hand. Robotnik guided him back to his room, ignoring the cat as it tried to greet its owner. He sat him down in the bathroom and smoothed back his curly hair before cupping his face in his bare hands. “You’re so pale… You should have stayed home, Emil. I really wish you’d listen to me.” He grabbed a washcloth from the rack on the wall and poured hot water over it, wringing it out before he pressed it to Emil’s face.

Emil closed his eyes as the steaming-hot washcloth covered his face and brought the blood flowing back to his skin. He breathed in some of the steam, and kept his eyes downward as Ivo gently scrubbed his neck and behind his ears. Ivo pulled him to his feet, and Emil didn’t look in the mirror as his old friend, his beloved Abelard, scoured his hands and forearms until they were free of grime and dirt.

Ivo leaned in and nuzzled the top of his head. “You smell like you’ve been in the woods all day. You always smelled that way when we were young, like dead leaves, like rotting wood. You were the one who taught me what those things smell like, Emil. You would drag me into the forest preserve after school, even if it was just to take a shortcut home. I used to hate it, but now I miss those days…”

He led him by the hand out of the bathroom and pulled Emil’s clothes off of him, down to his boxers. He paused to stroke one of Emil's arms, running his thumb up and down the contours of his muscles. “I’ll stay with you tonight. Get into bed.” When Ivo pulled back the covers, Emil crawled into his bed without a word. Ivo hung his coat on one of the hooks by the door, set aside his own clothes, and he curled up with Emil. He pulled him close and threw the covers over the both of them. “Emil, say something.”

Emil turned over in bed and hid his head in Ivo’s chest. He wasn’t sure what Ivo wanted him to say. “I have a lot to think about,” he mumbled. He already felt so tired and so lifeless. His mind and his senses were leaden, and he could barely recall what he actually had to think about. The events of that day were already distant and foggy.

Ivo sighed and sat back up. He opened the mini-fridge and felt around inside, pulling out one of Emil’s Gatorade bottles. “Sit up. You need to take your medicine. You’ll feel better once you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep.”

Emil nodded and did as told, too tired to argue. He didn’t like letting other people see his prescriptions or their dosages, or which ones he took at which times and how often. He could trust Ivo, though. They’d established that, hadn’t they? He'd changed, but no more than Emil had. And clearly Ivo still cared about him.

Ivo gently pulled the hairband from Emil's hair and undid it, stroking his hair like he was admiring a soft pelt. “Your hair is so unkempt… When’s the last time you de-tangled it?” Ivo shook his head, and once Emil swallowed his pills, he held him tight as he kissed him. He pulled away, his lips brushing against Emil's. “I’m proud of you. I knew that you’d keep me safe. We’ll talk about the details later, though.” He pulled Emil down beside him in bed, and tucked the both of them in together. Emil buried his head under Ivo’s chin and closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn’t remember any of his dreams when he woke up.


	8. The Lessons ("Behind The Bank" by Oneohtrix Point Never)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People sure do have a hard time keeping their clothes on around here! Oh, and someone gets shot. Whatever!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a loooooong time coming, and not just because I'm a little rusty when it comes to writing smut. There's no mention of tongues battling or dancing here, so you'll just have to rely on the context. My writing is flowery, but not like that.
> 
> Anyway, if you're under 18 and reading this chapter, I already know that I can't stop you. I was like you once, secretly reading DBZ lemons and hurriedly deleting the browser history every night. Before you proceed, please do me a favor and give this website a quick look first: https://www.thehotline.org/is-this-abuse/
> 
> If you're in a relationship that looks or feels like this, it's not sexy. It's not torrid. It's dangerous, and at the very least, you need to find someone to talk about it with.

Emil woke up still wrapped in Ivo’s arms, and in his legs as well. At some time during the night, he’d assumed the role of a body pillow for him. He sighed and reached down to pull the covers back up over the two of them, and Ivo grunted softly and tightened his embrace.

“What time is it?” Emil asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ivo said. After a moment he added, “it’s 8:49 am.”

“Have you been sleeping this whole time?”

“No, a couple of hours here and there.” He kissed the top of Emil’s head and rested his chin on it, staring at the wall. Had Emil been able to see his face, he would have recognized the distinctive and familiar expression of disquiet bordering on fear. It was a less bloody version of Repin’s Ivan Grozny—the wide-eyed distant stare, the clammy skin, the thin, silent lips that concealed clenched teeth. The very nature of Ivo’s embrace gave him away, more clinging to than holding Emil, his hands splayed as he grasped Emil’s shoulders. He must have just woken up before him; his skin felt sweaty. Emil didn’t bother to ask him what was troubling him. He’d never give him a straight answer if at all he answered him.

Emil pried himself away just enough to face him, and he was surprised by how exhausted he looked. He was usually a tireless ball of energy, one that seemed to absorb the energy of the people around him. Emil frowned and gently placed a hand on his cheek. “Ivo?”

Ivo’s hand shot up and grasped Emil’s immediately. He kissed the palm of it and pressed it against his face, closing his eyes and breathing as slowly and as deeply as he could.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“I don’t remember.” Dreams were always the one thing that Ivo couldn’t recall. It had been that way since high school. He was sure about everything else, even when Emil knew he was just talking out his ass, but he always conveniently forgot what happened behind his own eyes at night. Instead of elaborating, Ivo took hold of his chin and kissed him. “It’s not worth thinking about, is it?” He whispered. “We’re both awake, the world hasn’t changed, and we’re together.”

Emil kissed him back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Just like old times, right?” The tiredness returned as soon as the words left his lips, along with the weight of what he’d done and what he’d seen. Ivo must have noticed. Nothing escaped him.

He stroked Emil’s hair, locking eyes with him. “You did something that most people don’t have the stomach for. I know what you’re going through.” He saw the doubt in Emil’s eyes and frowned. “Remember when you took me hunting with your uncle? It was the first time I’d ever tracked down a living creature.” He paused. “It was also the first time I’d ever killed anything with a single shot.”

Emil’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Life was worse than you realize before Ilya came into the picture.” The look in his eyes wasn’t the demand for sympathy that Emil might have expected from him. His mind was miles away and decades into the past, back behind the iron curtain, enduring a life led entirely alone. Emil knew that his young life had been one of isolation and hardship, but beyond that, he didn’t know any details. “How many times must I tell you, Emil? I’ll never feel truly safe unless you’re by my side.”

“Ivo…” Emil paused and sighed. “You’re dealing with a different set of enemies here. An innocent man got caught in the crossfire.”

Ivo didn’t say anything at first. He’d been stroking Emil’s hair this whole time, the same way that Emil would pet his cat when he was trying to put his thoughts in order. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Emil’s. “I’m doing more than just trying to survive these days. I have dedicated enemies now, and they won’t hesitate to kill innocent people themselves.”

That was the exact same logic that the US military used to justify their war crimes. He had more in common with them than he realized. Maybe he just didn’t care. Emil closed his eyes. He didn’t want it to be true. It hurt him to the point that his body was in pain. His eyes stung. He closed them and he held Ivo tightly. “Please, Ivo. Never say that again. You know who you sound like?”

Ivo pulled away. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He gripped Emil’s arms, and he dropped his tone to a desperate whisper. “These aren’t whistleblowers, do you understand? They’re not all investigative reporters trying to bring the ignorant and indifferent masses to understand what sort of evil I’ve unleashed on this world. I already have people who take care of them. This has _ nothing _ to do with morality! Forget what the others do. _ Your _ job is to defend _ me, _ personally. Everything else is a side task. Look at me…” he lifted Emil’s chin and looked into his sad, heavy eyes. “ _ I need you. _”

“Ivo, I’ll always be here for you. I already told you, I’m not going anywhere. I just need to process all this shit.”

“You need a new therapist, I understand. Your life is changing so fast that you can barely keep up with it.” He kissed him and gave him a lopsided smile. “You know that your health benefits took effect the moment you signed your contract, right?”

He was right. He really did need to get on that. Maybe he could deal with this ethical dilemma once he had his emotions and personal problems under control. It wasn’t too late. Hell, the fact that he didn’t get defensive when the subject of therapy was brought up was an encouraging sign.

Ivo had gone back to caressing his hair. He casually changed the subject. “I’m afraid to run my fingers through this, Emil! I don’t want to call it a rat’s nest, but you’re going to need my help detangling it.” He drew closer and rolled on top of him. “Should we shower first?”

“First?” Ivo was already at half-mast and getting harder the more time he spent in his old friend’s arms, their legs tangled as they tried to get comfortable.

Emil kissed him and softly nipped at his lower lip as Ivo pulled away. He gently bit down on Emil’s neck just beneath his ear, sucking at the flesh and leaving wet kisses the further down he went, lapping at his warm, sweaty skin. Emil shuddered and raked his nails across Ivo’s back, still reluctant to let himself grind his hips against his… He needed to be in control of this situation. He needed this, but he couldn’t let it get out of hand when things didn’t turn out the way that Ivo expected. Ivo wouldn’t freak out though, would he? God, he wanted to trust him, especially about things concerning his own body. He’d find out eventually, though. Ivo was almost under the covers now, pulling them back, his hands sliding down, further down…

Emil flipped him over and straddled his chest. He took a moment to drink in the sight of him. He was as pale as ever and gangly, only now he was older and hairier, and even taller than the last time they’d shared a bed. His face bore the lines of years and stress, but his eyes were as bright and boyish as they were when he’d left for college. He was beautiful, and the longer he gazed at him, the more at-ease Emil felt.

He was the first one who ever called him by his true name. He was the one who once knew, and probably still did know, more about him than any other person on the planet. No other man had measured up to him, no matter their looks or their education or their personality. It was unfair to compare people like that, but Emil finally realized why his relationships never lasted very long.

Ivo stared up at him with a curious smile, head tilted as he looked at all of the other scars on Emil’s body that he hadn’t noticed before, smaller and more storied than the line under his chest.

“You’re not worried, are you?” He said, his finger circling what appeared to be a stab wound on his hip. His fingers slid across his belly, over the solid, smooth flesh and back down to his boxers, hooking the tips of his fingers into the waist, ready to tug them down.

Emil laughed. “Why should I be?” He reached over Ivo’s head and felt around the shelves with shaking hands for a bottle of lube. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for, Ivo.”

“Don’t underestimate me. You won’t be able to sit for a week once I’m done with you!” He gave Emil a wicked smirk and pulled his boxers down, only for his eyes to go wide as his dear Heloise yanked them the rest of the way down and tossed them over his shoulder. He stared, licking his lips. “So you’ve opted not to alter your undercarriage…” It was still familiar territory to him to some extent, but it was obvious by now that he wouldn’t be the one to take charge here, not if Emil had his way.

“Nope! No reason to, unless you wanna get strapped instead. Now sit up.” He laughed at the expression on Ivo’s face as he took two lube-covered fingers and ran them up and down the folds of his cunt. He dipped them inside and slathered the walls, just until his own juices got running, and then he rubbed the smooth flesh just above the tip of his clit, slowly at first, taking his time.

Ivo did as he was told, his eyes locked on Emil’s handiwork. He sat up and slid back until he was resting against the head of the bed. He grasped Emil by the hips, ready to plunge himself right in, but Emil didn’t budge. He was already panting into Ivo’s neck, steadying himself with one arm against the wall as he rubbed one out, almost as if he’d forgotten that Ivo was there at all…

Except, of course, he hadn’t. His pussy was so wet now, and so close to the tip of Ivo’s dick, and his slick, warm fingers brushed against it _ and he just had to be doing this on purpose! _ Ivo growled and he bucked his hips, his fingers digging into Emil’s solid thighs as he tried in vain to make him cooperate. He was starting to sweat, and he was blushing harder than he had in entire decades, and when he glared up at Emil and saw the smugness in his features, he just about had an aneurysm.

“All that blood’s supposed to be goin’ south, remember?”

“Emil, you bastard! What are you doing?”

“What’s the hurry?” Emil panted, “I’m just trying to make sure I…” his breath hitched, and he grunted as the first wave of pleasure hit him, “I gotta get somethin’ out of this too…” Emil barely had time to enjoy the fury in Ivo’s eyes before he got caught off-guard. Before he knew it, Ivo was up to his balls inside him and his vision went white for a moment. Emil gasped and pulled Ivo’s hair. “You son of a bitch!”

“I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t feel your legs!” Ivo growled.

“Yeah, sure, just don’t wear yourself out—” He felt Ivo try to push him down on the bed, but he pushed back and the two of them hit the headboard. He quickly forgot all about this new, minor head injury immediately as he rocked his hips and ground against Ivo, who rushed to keep up with him.

Ivo clutched his ass with both hands as he pounded himself up into Emil. It was harder and harder to keep his grip on him as the sweat dripped from their bodies. He thrust against him roughly, too out of breath to speak anymore. Neither of them was talking shit now. The only thing that occupied either of their thoughts was the feeling of each other’s sweat and body hair against their flesh, the burning in their lungs, the warm, tight feeling that built up inside them both…

Emil moaned into Ivo’s neck as another orgasm hit him, and he responded by picking up his pace. Emil fell back onto the bed, trying to get a better angle to grind on. He twisted to one side and pressed his foot against Ivo’s chest to keep him in place. “Right there! _ There! _ Don’t stop!” He snarled and moaned as he clenched down, both feet back on the bed again as his back arched.

“Don’t tell me what to do! I—ah!” Ivo bit his lip and concentrated, pounding away with a vengeance.

“Harder!” Emil clenched down on Ivo's dick, rocking his hips in an attempt to hit just the right spot.

Ivo whimpered, and then hastily tried to make it sound less like a whimper and more of a growl. He spread Emil’s legs even further apart and kept hammering into him. Emil pressed his legs back more and more, writhing as Ivo twisted his fingers into Emil’s hair and yanked his head back, biting down on his collarbone. Emil wrapped his legs around him, ready to flip him onto his back and take over when Ivo came into him with a ragged gasp.

They lay there in a sweaty heap while they both wound down, and the only sound in the room was of them trying to catch their breath. From the bathroom sink, Dozy watched them in lazy judgement. Ivo gave a long, contented sigh and buried his face in the crook of Emil’s neck, while Emil lay there with his arm around him. He stared up at the ceiling with a smile, his mind preoccupied with nothing for once in a long, long while. “I needed that,” he whispered. “Thanks… Ivo? Hey. Ivo?” Emil nudged him, and Ivo looked at him with a blissed-out smile.

“You won this round,” he whispered.

“It’s not a competition, dumbass…” Emil laughed and held him tight, nuzzling him and kissing him between the eyes. “Come on, let’s take a shower. You still wanna help me with my hair, right?”

* * *

Ivo stuck around afterward, and the two of them did some reading in bed—he read _ Communion _ while Emil finished the last hundred or so pages of the manual. Last he’d left off was in the middle of the final chapter. It discussed the chain of command and assigned duties for every member of the private organization. It all sounded very…

“I’m in a private army,” he muttered. Of course he was. No shit. It kept hitting home in waves though, not unlike grief. He glanced sidelong at Ivo. What was he grieving? He knew damned well, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Ivo looked at him and smiled. “I told you that you’re one of my _ bodyguards _ . You’ll find the term ‘private army’ nowhere in that manual.” He leaned over and kissed Emil on the cheek and flipped back to one of the earlier pages of _ Communion. _ “‘What can we do to help you stop screaming?’ Do you know what Whitley asked?”

“He asked to smell them.”

“Aliens smell like moldy cardboard, apparently.” Ivo laughed and shook his head, returning to one of the later chapters. “Oh good! Now he’s talking about how the universe actually works. Anyway, private armies are sent to wage wars in situations where even the US Military itself doesn’t want to get their hands dirty. My ‘private organization’ keeps everything that I do private, and is itself unseen. As for the people who purchase my handiwork, however…” He shrugged. “You already know how they like to use their war machines. If I had my way, none of that would be happening in the first place.”

“It wouldn’t?” Emil didn’t even try to hide his skepticism.

“I mean it. If I had the proper resources, well… we wouldn’t be in the middle of a forever-war.”

“What would we be doing then?”

Ivo put his arms around Emil and kissed him deeply. He pulled back, their noses still touching. “I’d rule the world,” he said in a husky whisper. “I would be the philosopher-king of this entire planet, and you would be my prince-consort.”

The two of them stared at each other until Emil laughed and kissed him back. “Just make sure I’m in charge of writing your correspondence, okay?”

Ivo shook his head and sighed. “Just finish the manual. You have three and a half pages left, not counting the appendices.”

* * *

Emil finished the book, sort of. By the time he reached Appendices A through G, Ivo got sick of waiting. He got dressed, rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Onto your next assignment!”

Emil threw on some underwear and his coveralls, and Ivo took his hand and led him down the hall. 

“What now? Physical training? Martial arts?”

Ivo shook his head and stood by a door near the lab he’d been in yesterday. “Go ahead, open it.”

Emil pressed his badge to the keypad, and as the door slid open the first thing he noticed was the smell of fresh paint and drywall. Everything in this room was out of place; the furniture was wood, there was a comfy loveseat with several afghans thrown over the back of it, and all the framed photos and artwork from Emil’s trailer were hung up. He stepped inside, glancing at the shelves and the desk. So that’s where the rest of his books wound up…

He rubbed his arm, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Uh, Ivo? Has this room always been here?”

“I had it built for you. I want you to feel completely comfortable while you’re studying or reading. He took a step closer, standing just over Emil’s shoulder, and he lowered his voice. “I just want to make sure you have a place where you can concentrate without feeling the need to cross state borders.” 

That sounded familiar for some reason. A drone whirred by in the hallway, doing its rounds, and Emil shuddered. “Oh.” He looked over his shoulder and gave Ivo a tight, nervous smile. “You… Your drones pick up conversations too.”

Ivo grinned and winked at him. “Don’t worry, Tess was right. I won’t hurt her. I’ll have to remind her not to abuse her privileges though. And if Kellyanne Conway was left alone in a room with me, she would have a complete emotional meltdown in less than three minutes. She would thank God that no one discusses me out loud and that she could attempt to forget what happened. Oh,” he turned Emil around to face him. “You don’t mind by the way, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“That there’s at least one sacrifice every time _ those people _ enter my sanctuary?”

Emil visibly cringed. “Uhh, you really call it that?”

Ivo laughed and waved away his concerns. “No! Of course not! It was just a spontaneous turn of phrase. However glad I might be that she saw fit to _ warn you _ about my habits, I’ll have you know that they’re very short affairs―at least when I can pry them off of me. Once in a while, someone’s husband or wife will come crawling back for more, so it’s necessary to frighten them off.”

Emil flopped down on the new, overstuffed couch. It was the kind of couch he’d have a hard time leaving. He could sleep on a couch like this. “With the weird stuff?” He asked, patting the seat next to him.

“It’s not―!” Ivo growled and ran his hands over his face. “It’s not weird! Everyone has their own _ thing, _ Emil. Besides, it’s nothing you have to worry about.” He sat down next to Emil, eager to get the conversation back on the rails. “Enough about our personal habits. I only asked because I wondered if it upset you.”

Emil shrugged. “A couple days ago it might’ve, but I don’t really care now to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Well… I mean, at the end of the day, we’re all still living together in the compound―”

“The manual, if you’ll recall, refers to this property as the ‘campus.’”

“Yeah, but why’re we coppin’ Google n’ Microsoft? Anyway, we’re all probably either gonna be in each other’s hair all the time and want a break, or we’ll be so busy doin’ our own thing that we’ll get lonely n’ seek each other out. Long as Stone n’ me both get our fair share of ass―”

“Why do you care about Agent Stone all of a sudden?” This genuinely seemed to confuse Ivo―and to irritate him, it seemed.

“Well, he left everything behind to be with you, right? I watched him brutalize a guy until he stopped having a face, all because he wanted to keep people from prying into your business. Besides, he doesn’t seem like he’s that bad a guy.”

Ivo rolled his eyes and leaned back, flinging an arm around Emil’s shoulder and drawing him closer. “Is this altruism or resignation?”

“Eh, a little of both. I’m fine with it now.”

“Good. Everything’s easier for all parties involved when I get my way.” He stood and crossed the room to pull a book from the shelf, smiling to himself at Emil’s exasperated glare. “Now, about your next assignment,” he slammed the book down on the desk next to what looked to be a workbook. “You’re going to relearn everything that I taught you, and that you’ve almost certainly forgot the moment you walked off the stage with your diploma. 

Emil was out of his seat by now, staring down the textbook. He took a glance at the shelf Ivo had pulled it from and saw an entire row of them. He groaned and rubbed his head. He already felt a headache coming on…

“Now, what I want you to do is complete your daily assignments. They’re all outlined in this notebook here. The next morning, provided there aren’t any more pressing matters to tend to, I’ll stop by to check your progress. If you have any questions, then I’ll answer them for you.”

Emil was silent for a moment while he thought about this. Couldn’t he have hired someone to teach him all this shit? Why did he build an entire room just for him to study in? Was it for the sole purpose of flexing on him? Did he have it built out of spite? No, even he wouldn’t go that far… would he?

“Y’know,” he said, smiling sweetly up at Ivo, “most guys get a divorce or buy a hotrod when they’re going through a midlife crisis.” He leaned up and gave him a peck on the lips, and Ivo pulled him in.

“It’s confusing, I know. Everything will become clear by the time you’ve finished your courses, and you can always speak to Agent Morse if you can’t find me…” he cleared his throat, “assuming you can find her at all. She’s difficult to keep track of. Everything you’re studying right now, she had to endure as well. Oh, Heloise, I wish I could stay in here with you…” 

Ivo kissed Emil’s ear and buried his face in his shoulder. Just one day without shaving and his stubble was already so rough. Emil inhaled; he still smelled like body wash and coconut oil, and he wished that he could lie down with him on the couch and stay bundled up in his arms and his silly long coat. They could sleep the day away, or watch TV together, or do some more reading… was that what Ivo wanted too? He’d been oddly quiet for a while now, and he wasn’t playing grab-ass or anything.

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t wanna,” Emil whispered. “Just stay with me, Abelard. Please.”

Ivo still said nothing, though there was a shift in his posture. At length, he gave him a tight squeeze and kissed him on the forehead. He left the room quickly without another word, taking care not to look back at him.

* * *

After a trip back to his room for his reading glasses, his cat, and some energy drinks, Emil returned to the study room and got to work.

The first algebra assignment wasn’t too hard, just a run-down of the basics―the different kinds of numbers, how to solve for x, blah blah blah… Boring as it was, and as much as he’d rather play with Dozy, Emil powered through it and even took the time to show his work. The reading assignment for chemistry, however, was the hardest forty pages he’d ever read―and that was counting the stupid employee manual. He had to rally himself with another can of Monster before he’d finished the questions at the end of each chapter.

Finally, he closed the books and sighed. Emil slumped down in the chair as he let it roll away from the desk. He let his eyes wander back to the shelf of textbooks and manuals. He got up and inspected the covers. Oh good, more math, stuff about robotics (as if he’d be any use in that area,) a book on the basic principles of programming, and then finally, something interesting―survival and tactical guides. He had to wonder why this was all here, though. What did Ivo think he’d need all this for? Emil couldn’t quite explain it to himself, but it almost felt like paranoia…

“Well Dozy,” he picked up his cat from the couch and cradled him under his chin. “Did you have fun? I sure didn’t. Forgot how much I hated math n’ science… Anyway, let’s go for a walk!” He wrangled Dozy back into his harness, strapped on the lead, and shut the lights before leaving his room.

There wasn’t much to look at in the hallways, as far as Emil was concerned. The whole place had an odd smell to it, like a new plastic keyboard scent with top notes of Jiffy Lube and vulcanized rubber. Dozy seemed to be having a field day, however. His tail wagged lazily as he sniffed at the metal paneling and at the seams of the sliding doors. He paused and chattered at one of the drones, and Emil knelt down next to him. “I know, buddy. Me too.”

He paused and listened. It sounded like someone was cutting through a sheet of metal. Thankfully it was further down the hallway and around a corner, but he couldn’t imagine Dozy liked hearing it. Then, there was the sound of soft footsteps coming from just ahead. Emil looked up in time to see Agent Stone looming above him. Stone couldn’t keep a passive expression when he saw Dozy, especially when the large orange cat rubbed his head against his shoes.

“The doctor doesn’t want animals running loose in the compound,” he said, even as he stooped down to pet Dozy.

“He’s on a leash. And anyway, I thought we were supposed to call it a ‘campus.’”

Agent Stone rolled his eyes. “We’re not Google, and we’re not Microsoft. Put the cat away. I’m going to show you how we tie up loose ends.”

Emil didn’t like the sound of that. He felt his stomach drop, and he had a feeling he already knew what Agent Stone wanted him to see. On the way to his room, they passed by the onsite clinic. It was close to the dormitories, and at the window stood a young dark-skinned woman with long box braids. She wore scrubs, and as they passed by she looked up and smiled at Emil. Her expression was so bright and lovely that he couldn’t help smiling back. 

She was the kind of woman that he’d spend all day trying to entertain, just to see that smile over and over, to watch her dark eyes sparkle… He cleared his throat and stared ahead. No need to harass his coworkers, or to make them think that he was even considering it. There was _ no way _ he was going to be That Guy, he told himself, especially not here, when That Guy ran the whole fucking show.

Once they dropped off Dozy, Emil followed Agent Stone to an elevator all the way on the other side of the floor. Emil tried to keep track of how many floors down they were going, but Agent Stone disrupted his thoughts.

“I hope you have a better understanding of what we do here,” he said. “The way I heard it, you had a rough time processing things―that you were in a state of shock.”

“Did Ivo tell you that?”

Agent Stone sighed. “Yes, the doctor told me. He’s probably worried that you won’t be able to handle things should you find yourself alone in a situation.”

_ Guess I can’t blame him, _ Emil thought. “You’d be surprised what I can handle, Stone.”

“I’m not talking about drunken brawls or shouting down someone’s ex on the front lawn, Sobel.”

“Wow.” Emil raised his eyebrows, reeling from the acrimony that saturated Agent Stone’s voice. “Looks like I graduated from school bus driver to lowlife. I’m honored.” He wondered what else the doctor might have told him about today; it looked like things weren’t as settled between him and Stone as he’d thought. 

“Just try not to pass out or cry. Got it?” Agent Stone slapped his keycard against a panel next to a door, and when it opened, Emil wasn’t even a little surprised by who he saw in there. It was too late to avoid the poor man’s wide-eyed gaze, and he could almost hear the cries for help, though the hotel manager had stopped pleading for his life by now. Agent Stone stepped aside and let Emil inside, following closely.

The man was strapped to a chair, which itself was bolted to the concrete floor. There was a barely perceptible incline leading to the center of the floor, where there was a round drain grate. A water valve and a hose were mounted on one wall, and near the door was a card table with two items on it: a loaded handgun and a bottle of cheap whiskey. 

Agent Stone grabbed the gun and, without hesitation, shot the man twice point-blank and tossed the gun back on the table.

“Jesus!” Emil tried to pop his jaw and rubbed at his ringing ears. Hadn’t any of these assholes heard of ear protection? He almost didn’t notice Agent Stone approach him until they were standing toe-to-toe.

“So,” he said, locking eyes with him, “do you think you can shoot a man in cold blood? Without hesitation? Without knowing _ why _ you need to shoot him? Someday you’ll have to make a decision, and no one will be there to hold your hand while you do it.”

Emil sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I guess so. I took a man apart the other day, right? I kidnapped that poor asshole over there. I do lots of shit without thinkin’ it through until it’s too late…” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Are you… are you tryin’ to intimidate me?”

Agent Stone’s steely glare flickered, and he struggled not to let his sudden embarrassment show. Emil was already laughing though. His face reddened, and he clenched his fists.

Emil held up his hands and tried to hold back his giggles. “I… Look, I’m not making fun of you, but you’re like maybe an inch taller than me! You…” He coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter. “I’ll give you points for trying, okay?”

“I’m two inches taller than you. And why are you laughing? I just killed an innocent man!”

“Yeah… that’s a good point. Huh.” Emil scratched at his patchy stubble, and he studied the corpse from where he stood. “Hey,” he said, “does the doctor fuck around with people’s meds?”

Agent Stone shrugged his shoulders. “Probably. Maybe not everyone’s, though. My antidepressants don’t even work half the time.”

“Same here.”

“Whatever the case, functional alcoholism is implicitly encouraged. Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle and left the room with Emil. Soon, they were seated in another concrete room on the same floor. Presumably, this one was used for interrogations; they sat across from each other at a bolted-down steel table, taking turns with the bottle.

“So,” Emil said, “Guess I’ll be taking another trip over the state line, huh?”

Agent Stone took a gulp, wincing as he handed it back to Emil. “With Pasternak? Why? He smells like the Marlboro man. I wouldn’t wanna be in a car with him.”

Emil laughed. “I told him the same thing! Anyway, I like hanging out with him. He’s old-school.”

“He’s an old blowhard is what he is. His biggest talents are avoiding death and gossiping. I swear he’s worse than Tess…”

“What’s wrong with Tess? I like her too!”

“Nothing.” Agent Stone sighed and reached for the bottle. “I just don’t understand how he picks them out. The doctor knows what he’s doing, but his methods are… uncanny. I can’t figure out where he finds these people.”

“Benny told me he only recruits a certain number of them like that,” Emil said, pausing to take a pull. “He also told me none of them’s ever betrayed him.”

“Some of the lower-ranked ones have tried--the ones who’ve been sent here by the Feds. Some of them get spooked by what the doctor’s up to, and suddenly they grow a sense of empathy or morality… I don’t know.” He picked up the bottle, then set it down. “There are three levels of agents around here--four counting you and me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Level One are the Mormon lookalikes that you see around here once in a while, communicating with government agencies, arranging meetings, trying to make sure that the doctor doesn’t step out of line…” he snorted. “What a joke. None of those idiots have a clue what really goes on around here, and they know it. They also know that asking the doctor too many questions will probably get them nothing but a spanner thrown at their head and a whole earful of venom. None of them want to approach him. I’ve seen grown men run out of the doctor’s labs in tears.”

“Huh. Is he really like that these days?”

“Yeah. You’d be too if you had these bureaucrats nosing around every day. Anyway, they have white badge lanyards, and they don’t stay around long enough to make it worth getting to know them. I don’t know why the Pentagon keeps putting them through it--I almost feel bad for those guys.” He smiled to himself, apparently proud of his superiority over them. “Anyway, then there’s Level Two. You won’t see them around very often. I think they were the ones who dragged away that hotel manager when you and Benny brought him back. They do a lot of the wet-work, like cleaning up after that shootout last night. Most of them are ex-military, have connections in the public sector and in private companies. They’re way more useful and infinitely more tolerable than Level One agents, probably because they have an understanding of how things work here. Now Level Three, those are the agents that are handpicked by the doctor himself. You’ve met them already. They’re experts in their respective fields, and they actually have some skin in the game one way or another, unlike the lower-ranked agents.”

Emil laughed, setting down the bottle in the middle of the table. “What, like they sold their souls or something?”

Agent Stone shook his head. “No, they just owe him. He saved them all from grave circumstances, but he doesn’t lord it over their heads. At least, that’s been my experience.”

Emil highly doubted that Ivo could ever resist the urge to hold anything over anyone’s head, but he didn’t say as much. “So we’re Level Four. What does that mean?”

“Not much, officially. It’s not an actual level. The others just call us that because we spend the most time in the doctor’s company.” He scowled at the bottle, his chin resting on his hands. “It’s an honor. I don’t know why they think otherwise…”

“Who knows?” Emil shrugged. He decided that they didn’t need to dig into that subject any further. He stood up from the table and had to steady himself. “Ugh… I think I had enough.”

“Same.” Agent Stone was already headed for the door. Emil followed him back to the elevator, and Agent Stone pressed one of the many unmarked buttons on the panel as the door closed.

* * *

They rode the elevator in silence until the door opened on the first floor. Agent Morse was standing there with a mean smile on her face and a hand behind her back.

Agent Stone backed away from the door, hands held in front of him. “Sabrina no! _ Don’t you dare!” _

It was too late. Morse was already pressing every single button on the panel.

“It’s okay Stone, we just have a few more floors to go―”

Emil couldn’t comprehend the severity of the situation until it was too late. Sabrina threw something fist-sized and fuzzy directly at Agent Stone. He shrieked and backed all the way into the corner to escape the tarantula.

Sabrina cackled as the door closed. “See ya, coffee-bitch!”

_ “FUCK YOU!” _ In his hysteria, Agent Stone almost missed Emil unbuttoning his coveralls and reaching for the tarantula with his undershirt covering his hands. “NO! Sobel, don’t―!”

“Hmm… it’s a fake.”

“Ohhh no. _ No. _ I’m not falling for that!”

Emil stared at him as he rubbed the fake spider against his cheek. “Nice n’ soft. Squishy too… Dozy’s gonna love this.” He pocketed the spider. “Does she always fuck with you like that? And why’d she call you ‘coffee-bitch?’”

Agent Stone rubbed his face over his hands and let out a long sigh. “I worked at a coffee shop when I was an undergrad. I learned a lot about making coffee, and the doctor appreciates my finely-honed skills. Morse decided that it’s stupid and that I’m his little bitch, and she also thinks I’m funny when I’m scared or pissed off.” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not his little bitch, by the way! If you ask me, she should’ve stayed in boarding school where her parents left her.”

“Boarding school?”

“Yeah. She’s still a minor, in case her behavior didn’t give it away. The doctor snatched her out of the Pentagon’s hands when she was caught breaking into their servers to find info on Area 51 or something stupid like that. She was facing a _ very _ long prison sentence, but instead, she’s been working here for about four years, going on five.”

“Jesus…” They’d stopped at several different floors by now, though neither of them noticed or cared. “So how old is she now? Do her parents know? Are they okay with this?”

Agent Stone shrugged. “She’ll be sixteen in two weeks and honestly? I don’t think her parents care. Kovac told me that they don’t even write to her or call her, not even on her birthday. As far as she’s concerned, we’re her only real family.” He sighed and leaned against the wall. “The doctor asks about her all the time, her mental state, her health. It’s like she’s his illegitimate child being raised in the moors while he attends to business in London…” He smiled dreamily at the thought while he gripped the railing to steady himself, as if he’d been transported to a Jane Austen novel.

He had such a poetic way of wording things when he wanted to, Emil thought. The man was a romantic at heart, a sensitive soul who was just as out of place here as he was. Far be it from Emil to say that out loud, though. “So it’s like she’s Martin Septim or something, huh?”

Agent Stone hesitated, and then he deigned to acknowledge the video game reference. “Something like that.”

“So Kovac’s Jauffre then…”

“Are you going to put your shirt back on anytime soon?”

Emil grinned. “What? Feeling threatened?” 

He flexed his arms for Stone, who shook his head. Without a word Agent Stone unbuttoned his blazer, then his vest, then his shirt and tie. He shrugged them off and pulled his undershirt over his head to show Emil the goods. He wasn’t a gym rat by any means, but he was buff and smooth-shaven, save for the immaculate manscaping just above the belt. 

Emil didn’t even pretend not to stare. Maybe it was all the booze, but there was no way he couldn’t forgive Ivo for fucking Agent Stone. “Nice! Hey, we should work out some―”

The door opened again, and this time someone placed their boot in the way. It was the brave janitor from the other night. He seemed neither surprised nor put off by what he saw as he gazed at both idiots. He was simply tired.

His voice sounded as rough and lethargic as he looked. “Gettin’ bored on one of Morse’s joyrides.” It was a statement, not a question.

Agent Stone cleared his throat as his face flushed deep red. “Yeah… Sobel, it was―”

“Y-yeah, nice… nice talkin’ to you…” He put his shirt back on as he stepped off the elevator.

As the door closed, the janitor grabbed Emil by the shoulder. “I gotta show you something.”

Emil sighed and rolled his eyes. Everyone had something to show him today; he just wanted to go back to his room and take a nap. “What, you wanna take your shirt off too?”

The janitor put a finger to his lips, and as he walked away Emil followed.


	9. The Samovar - "Dry and Dusty" by Fever Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While things get progressively more fucked up, let's take a little break and travel back in time to when Ivo had a semblance of self-awareness. Say, why's that Ilya guy so nervous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week was lousy, and today I had to participate in not one but THREE emotionally taxing phonecalls. I'm upset about this. _Now all of you have to suffer through this hastily written, self-indulgent mini-chapter._

Dinner was quiet as usual. It always was unless Ilya or Ivo had any guests, and even then, there was only one guest that Ivo truly wanted around. He stared down at his lap and pushed his food around his plate. Something was on his mind, and Ilya was afraid to ask. He wouldn’t need to do so, however. Ivo dropped his fork and brought his fist down onto the table.

“Ilya. I should date ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.”

Ilya swallowed his food and cleared his throat. He smiled weakly, and when he spoke he did so with his usual gentle, soothing voice. “You might want to ask her first, Ivo.” When the young man looked up at him, he was surprised. If he didn’t know any better, Ilya might have thought that his ward looked nervous. Even more surprising, he didn’t argue or follow up with a bitter remark. “Will you bring her a gift?”

“She’s been sick since yesterday…” He rested his head on his hand and thought about it. “I’ll bring ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ some tea.”

“That’s a good idea. You can borrow the samovar if you want. She really likes it, doesn’t she?”

Ivo nodded and, having laid out his course of action, he got to work.

It was raining by the time he got to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s house, but he’d anticipated that. The samovar and the tea were wrapped up in layers of plastic bags next to his small briefcase, and all of it was strapped into the milk crate on the front of his bike, and he was nice and dry in his raincoat.

He rang the doorbell once. ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s mom opened the door, and when she saw him she beamed. “Ivo! What are you doing out here in the rain? Come in! Poor ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s still sick. Is that her homework? And what’s that?”

“Hello, Mrs. Sobel. It’s a samovar,” he said, removing his coat and shoes. “It brews tea and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ seems to like it. How’s her temperature? Is she drinking enough water?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead invited himself into the kitchen and grabbed a saucepan from one of the cabinets. 

“She’s okay, don’t worry! She’s got all weekend to get better.” She smiled and shook her head. That young man was always on a mission, and he wouldn’t let anything disrupt him. “Do you need help? Are you hungry?”

“No.” Ivo paused, and he added, “thank you, though.” He filled the kettle with water and headed for the stairs with the whole rig. “I’ll be back for the rest of the water.”

Ivo grabbed the doorknob but he paused and knocked loudly on the door instead. Having minded his manners, he barged in and turned the light on. He closed the door and set up the samovar on the dresser before plugging it in. When he was sure no one was coming up after him, he turned to his friend. “Emil, I brought you your homework…” his voice trailed off as he stared at him. 

He was sitting up, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He groaned and looked at him. “What time is it? Is… Why’s Ilya’s…”

It took Ivo a moment to reply. He felt like he’d been caught at a crime scene. “I borrowed it from him so I could make you some tea,” he finally muttered.

“You came all the way here just to make some tea?”

Ivo clenched his fists and looked away. He already regretted his decision. He’d counted on Emil’s faculties being compromised by the cough medicine and all of the sleep he’d―

“That’s so sweet! You coulda left the homework at school though.” She motioned him over with a smile and sniffled. Ivo blushed all the way to his ears, and as he sat down he couldn’t suppress the stupid grin on his face. He shouldn’t have acted on impulse. This was such a stupid decision. He startled when Emil brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine!” He cleared his throat and tried again with a gentler voice. “I’m fine, Emil.”

“You sure about that? You look nervous. What’s going on? I know somethin’s wrong…”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Ivo chewed his lip. He was furious at himself. Why was this so fucking hard? “Emil,” he braced himself for the worst-case scenario. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

The few seconds of silence felt like hours. Ivo felt sick, he cursed himself for eating dinner before he came here. He shouldn’t have followed Ilya’s advice! Why did that foolish, withered old coward encourage him? And then, he was wrapped up in Emil’s arms.

He laughed and peppered Ivo’s face with kisses. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna ask!”

Ivo’s face grew hot again. He grabbed Emil and kissed him on the lips. His first kiss… He’d never thought about kissing anyone before, definitely not before he’d arrived here. He pressed his lips firmly against his, and just as Emil was about to open her mouth and get their tongues involved, they both heard a set of heavy footsteps headed toward Emil’s door, followed by lighter footsteps and muffled talking.

“Ivo? ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓?” 

Emil’s mom didn’t bother knocking. Her husband, a barrel-chested ox of a man, opened the door for her. He was about to say something, but he forgot what it was when he saw his daughter practically draped over this boy’s lap, making out with him under his own roof. Mrs. Sobel almost dropped the saucepan full of boiling water.

“Oh my God,” she said. Her expression of shock was subtly different from that of her husband’s. Before Mr. Sobel had a chance to get a word in she asked, “are you two dating now?” She placed the hot water on the dresser on top of an oven mitt and smiled. “We were so worried!” She ran to her daughter and pinched her cheeks. “You finally got a boyfriend! We’re so happy for you!”

“Mom, c’mon!” Emil pulled away and rubbed his sore cheeks. “Can’t we get a little privacy? Jesus!”

Mr. Sobel pursed his lips and pointed a thick, calloused finger at Ivo, but his wife was already pushing him out of the room. “Oh of course! Don’t you two get too handsy though! Come on, Dylan. Let’s give them a moment…” The talking was a little less muffled as she closed the door and as they went back downstairs. Ivo and Emil both wanted to die.

Ivo cleared his throat “I’ll make you your tea,” he murmured. “I brought a teacup with me.”

Once the tea had been served, Emil forgot about it altogether and pulled his spindly boyfriend into bed with him. Ivo forgot about the homework and they both fell asleep in each other’s arms, with Mrs. Sobel on duty to fend off his father. 


End file.
